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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26061451">You Deserve Good Things</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chat_Noir12/pseuds/Chat_Noir'>Chat_Noir (Chat_Noir12)</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chat_Noir12/pseuds/Chat_Noir12'>Chat_Noir12</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shameless (US)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Bipolar Disorder, Canon-Typical Racial Slurs, Child Neglect, Discussion of Past Suicide Attempt, Domestic Violence, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, Flashbacks, Homophobic Language, I Promise a Happy Ending - don't be afraid, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, M/M, Mechanic Mickey Milkovich, Original Character(s), Past Child Abuse, Past Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Content Between Minor - not explicit, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Therapy, Trauma, discussions about mental health, institutionalization</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 11:27:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>213,644</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26061451</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chat_Noir12/pseuds/Chat_Noir, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chat_Noir12/pseuds/Chat_Noir12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey has been out on parole for a year and is finally feeling good about himself--feeling free. He's holding down a good, honest job as a mechanic, going to court appointed therapy, living in his own place, and maybe even has a friend. He is finding that freedom is a journey of the mind and having good things not only means working towards them, but also believing you deserve them. However, he soon discovers how fragile those things can be and how easily everything can all come crashing down around him when a new parolee walks through the door, bringing with him some of Mickey's demons that he thought he'd long since buried.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ian Gallagher &amp; Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>652</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>431</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Gallavich Prompt - Enemies To Lovers Challenge</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>Mickey wakes up before his alarm. He lays there, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling, shadows forming as the sun creeps through the window. For the fifth day in a row he wakes up with an unfamiliar, but not entirely unpleasant feeling that starts in his chest and radiates up to the crown of his head. </p><p>Mickey is conscious of his breathing, low and calm, as he lets out a slow, steady breath. He notices that this particular morning his breathing is different than all the other mornings he can remember. This breath is not ragged. It’s not full of anxiety. It doesn’t come out in short, uneven bursts and end with a knot still in his stomach. It simply flows out of his lungs and he feels his body…what is that? <em>Relax</em>? With no chemicals? No beer, no weed, no whiskey? It just simply relaxes into the bed and he thinks he feels like someone else. </p><p><em>This must be how other people start their day</em>. </p><p>Mickey stops thinking about it and swings his feet off the bed and shuts off the alarm clock before it has a chance to start screeching. He looks down and sees his discarded clothes from the night before and thinks about the back ally fuck he turned down, actually feeling good about not getting laid. Maybe he’s getting more picky, or maybe he’s just tired of seedy fucks in random places with guys he doesn’t give two shits about. </p><p>But what's the alternative? A dirty little secret in the bathroom at the bar is better than that sappy redhead twink last month who wanted him to move in and be boyfriend and girlfriend. <em>Or whatever.</em> </p><p><em>What was his name? Bryan? Barry? Don’t matter.</em> He isn’t sure, but he sure as hell isn’t gonna go play house with some sensitive fag he honestly couldn’t stand listening to. Fucking that guy enough to make him think he wanted something more was the mistake. <em>Won't let that happen again.</em> </p><p>Anyway, the guy was actually a bottom, was shit at fucking, and Mickey was sick of doing all the work. He was tired of pretending he didn’t want to be the one getting fucked. And for what? To keep a lie alive in his own mind that was beaten into him so many years ago? <em>Milkoviches don’t bottom.</em> And why? Because then he’d be a bitch, be a fag. <em>Pfft</em>. He grouses at the idea, letting out a puff of air. </p><p><em>I’m nobody’s bitch.</em> </p><p>He still doesn’t want everyone knowing he’s gay. It's none of their fuckin' business. And he still isn’t interested in being in a relationship with another dude, but at twenty-five he can finally admit that he likes to get fucked and isn’t gonna keep lying to himself about that.</p><p>He rubs the sleep out of his eyes and looks around the room, reflecting on how lucky he actually is. It’s been a year since he was released from Danville Correctional Center, but it feels like much longer than that. He thinks about the Mickey that walked out of that prison and shuffled onto a bus back to Chicago. That Mickey, full of anger and dread and all kinds of other emotions he never likes to admit, would’ve never imagined a version of himself where he would hold down a job—much less a good job—or have a place to live that didn’t involve the Milkovich clan or some roach motel, or where he was able to survive and provide for himself without having to scheme and hustle every day. But here he is. </p><p>As annoying as his Parole Officer is, he has to admit that he has finally drawn a good card in this game by getting Larry Seaver. His P.O. knew the owner of Willie’s Auto Repair, who had a reputation for hiring men and women down on their luck. A.K.A. parolees. Larry had hooked him up with a job as a technician at the shop, and the owner, Willie, had taken to Mickey immediately—something the younger man wasn’t used to and wasn’t really sure how to handle at first. </p><p>It was hard to understand someone being so nice to him that didn’t want something. Who wasn’t put off by his knuckle tattoos that were impossible to hide—F-U-C-K U U-P—or his “colorful” language and guarded personality. But Willie ignored Mickey’s suspicious attitude and proceeded to take him under his wing. Having been a felon himself at one point in his younger life, Willie was not easily shaken and he had an intimate understanding of being institutionalized and approaching the world like a caged animal. Mickey slowly came to realize this over the course of the first five or six weeks, and had begun to think that maybe there were people in the world that genuinely wanted to help fucked up criminals with nowhere to go but up. However, he still freaked out when Willie offered him the apartment above the shop only after six weeks of being under his employ.</p><p>
  <em>"Why you bein' so nice to me, huh?" Mickey had asked Willie, immediately putting his guard back up. The gesture seemed too big, too selfless.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Whoa." Willie held up his hands and took a step back. He was a tall man in his early sixties, with a snow white goatee and matching hair that was a little long. Mickey thought he looked like Jeff Bridges, but like a less shaggy Jeff Bridges. "Kid, listen, I don't want anything from you but hard work and rent."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Mickey felt like Willie could read his mind and he found it unnerving. But maybe he understood something Mickey didn't.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Can you do that?" Willie was stone faced, but he had kind eyes, and Mickey had felt it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"How much for the rent?" Mickey asked cautiously.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Two-Fifty a month."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Mickey raised his eyebrows in further suspicion.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Pft," Willie let out a sound like he knew what Mickey was thinking. “Look, it ain’t much. We can go up and look at it right now if you want. Believe me, it’s worth two-fifty and not much more.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Willie had shown Mickey the apartment above the garage to prove to him that it wasn’t some huge act of generosity, but what Willie didn’t get was that it was worth more than $250 a month. A lot more. Or maybe he actually did get it. Mickey was wide-eyed at the possibility of having his own place. He had never entertained the idea. Mickey certainly hadn’t been sure what he was going to do coming out of prison, but in no scenario did Mickey get to have his own apartment. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Mickey.” Willie raised his palm to pat Mickey on the back, but ended up changing his mind and holding his hand out for an awkward second or two. “Look, I know you don’t understand that there are people that help out other people ‘cos they can and it’s the right thing to do, but there are. And if I have to have a reason it’s ‘cos you remind me a lot of myself when I was younger.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Mickey hitched his eyebrows and looked skeptically at Willie. He just couldn't imagine how that could be true.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Willie laughed softly and motioned for Mickey to follow him downstairs. He followed Willie into the alley where he offered Mickey a cigarette, which he took because, what? Was he gonna turn down a free cigarette? No. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I did time. A lot of time. From the time I was 12 until I was 30, all I did was time. And fuckin’ up." Willie held Mickey’s attention with that. “I went through a lot of shit and had convinced myself I was never going to be anything more than who I was. But someone gave me a chance, offered me help. And I was smart enough to take it. Find a way out for me and my family. I finally got it together. And I think you can too.” Willie was sincere and Mickey had maybe possibly believed him in that moment. That maybe Mickey could get his shit together, which had always been beyond the realm of possibility.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Mickey had looked down at the asphalt and kicked at a loose piece of the pavement, nodding his head so slightly it was almost imperceivable.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Your attitude is shit,” Willie shrugged, “but no one here is winning any congeniality contests. You've been working hard, Mickey, and Larry really seems to like you, and I trust him. He’s a good guy. So, I want to give you a chance, but you have to accept it and keep up your end.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“What’s my end?” Mickey turned his head to the side, finally being able to speak, mouth dry and feeling dazed.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Follow your parole, stay out of trouble, work hard, and pay your rent.” Willie gestured in the air like he was saying “voila” and took a long drag of his cigarette.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It sounded easy enough, but it also sounded difficult and Mickey wasn’t sure what life was going to throw at him, so it felt hard for him to agree. He’d never been able to maintain a checklist like that and he wasn’t sure if he knew how to do it. But Mickey thought he had better fucking try ‘cos what was the alternative? Nothing good. There was no good alternative.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Mickey nodded his head, his deep blue eyes meeting the lighter blue of the older man’s eyes. “Yeah,” was all he could say.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Yeah, what?” It was Willie’s turn to raise his eyebrows, needing Mickey to say more, make that agreement, that verbal contract that stated he would accept the help that could possibly get his life on a completely different path than he had been on his whole life.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Yeah, I’ll stay out of trouble and work hard and pay rent. I’ll do what I’m supposed to do.” Mickey felt like a little kid. Maybe not the kid version of himself, but still young and juvenile. At the same time, he experienced a first in a long line of new feelings that he didn’t know he could feel and some of which he wasn’t sure he understood or had a name for. That day, Mickey felt looked after, cared for, or some such thing. Something he didn’t think possible, and he wasn’t sure why he didn’t hate it, but he didn’t.</em>
</p><p>The timing had ended up being just right because when Willie offered the apartment, he had had enough of the halfway house—or “transitional home”—he was stuck in, and had started trying to figure out a scheme to get him out of there even though he wasn't sure where to go. After he cautiously accepted the offer, he swore he would never have to live in one of those places again, which then meant he had to figure out how to never go to prison again. He wasn’t sure at first how to do that last one. It seemed damn near impossible and he had believed since he was sixteen that he was fucked for life.</p><p>So the idea of living a life where you didn’t have to commit crime to survive and therefore could live free seemed not only foreign, but damn near unattainable. But Willie had done it. And several of the folks in the garage had done it. So that made Mickey think that maybe it was something he could do too, especially with the added comfort of his own apartment. </p><p>“Apartment” is pretty generous. It's less of an apartment and more of a studio. Studio is actually generous too; it's more like a room, but it has a compact shower and a toilet, the smallest stove Mickey's ever seen, a half fridge, and a sink. So, it functions as a studio apartment just fine. There’s enough room for a twin bed that doubles as a couch. There's a night stand and one dining room chair—both of which Mickey had found on the side of the road—and a small dresser that also doubles as a countertop where the microwave and toaster live and where he prepares his food. There’s a small window that overlooks the alley that Mickey smokes cigarettes out of every morning when he gets up and every night before bed, and varying times in between.</p><p>There’s also a window with blinds that overlooks the garage, the room probably once being an office where the owner could observe the work of his mechanics, but Mickey often has them open because he enjoys being able to casually glance over and look down at the cars in various stages of repair. It gives him some kind of comfort to see that even the most broken down of vehicles can be put back together and made to function and often perform even better than they had before they were broken. Most of the time when he’s up in his room no one is in the shop anyway, so he never feels exposed. On the contrary, he feels something he’s sure he’s missed most of his life—secure.</p><p>Moving into the room above the shop gave him his own place for the first time in his whole life, providing him the ability to have solace and allow reflection and the opportunity to just—<em>be</em>. The job gave him income he didn’t have to earn by doing something risky and dangerous, and the mentorship and praise from Willie gave him confidence. The work itself provided something he had also rarely felt in his life, which was pride—he could be proud of the work he was doing.</p><p>Mickey had never felt so good in his life, and for the first time ever he wanted to really <em>try</em>. He was determined to work his way up, so he put in long hours detailing and finishing up cars, cleaning the shop, doing inventory, and setting up the stations for the mechanics for the next day. He did much of this after the shop had closed for no overtime, so that he could more directly apprentice with the mechanics during the day. </p><p>Mickey learned quickly and found that he really enjoyed working on cars, especially the classic muscle cars that had engines that may seem simple to most other people, compared to newer cars, but to him they were complex in their beauty and power. Mickey marvels at the warm feelings they give him and he wonders if that's what other people feel when they look at art in museums. He thinks it probably is.</p><p>After four months of apprenticing and showing a natural aptitude toward auto repair, Mickey began to work solo on some of the smaller jobs, and was told by Willie that if he enrolled in the six month auto mechanic certification program at the local community college, and showed him he was going to stick with it, he would promote Mickey to mechanic. And that’s what he did.</p><p>Four weeks into the program and Mickey was made a mechanic at Willie’s Auto Repair. And now after a year of determined hard work, Mickey was a certified mechanic, with his own place, and something that felt dangerously like hope. </p><p>
  <em>This must be how other people feel about their lives.</em>
</p><p>So, upon reflection maybe it wasn't all luck that had gotten him to where he was today. Maybe it was and still is, his desire to actually improve his life and the determination to do just that, which aligned with the encouragement and opportunity he had been given that created the perfect recipe for a life where he can breathe in the morning and have some cautious hope. And it feels really good. </p><p>Mickey is excited about the day. He has a few routine projects that he wants to get an early start on so he can finish and get to the real work—a complete restoration of a 1970 Chevy Chevelle LS6 454. Eight cylinders of raw power and a muscle car collector’s wet dream. The owner wants as many original parts as possible, is willing to wait for it and willing to pay any amount she needs to. She'd asked for Mickey personally after he'd done an amazing job months before on her 1971 Dodge Charger—said he’d “loved the car just right”, and since she was a longtime customer and basically friends with the owner she could pretty much ask for whatever she wanted. So, Willie let Mickey take the Chevelle on as a side project and keep a higher percentage of the labor cost as long as he continues to keep the customer happy.</p><p>At first, Mickey was surprised when he met the customer—surprised she was a woman—but after several months of getting to know Audre, it didn’t seem weird at all; her passion for cars and her vast knowledge of their history surpassed anyone Mickey knew. Still, there are times when he thinks about who she is—a big white woman in her mid-40s with bushy hair that's always changing colors. And he’s pretty sure she’s a dyke, 'cos he’s caught her more than once eye fucking, Rita-Mae—the veteran mechanic at the shop and the only female there. <em>Rita-Mae is definitely a lesbo</em>. Mickey thinks Audre is bi at the very least, and he thinks about her being a—<em>what'd she call it</em>? Clinical social worker? Whatever, she's a professor and does therapy stuff for rich people, and she does that with all her tattoos and no bullshit way of talking. He also thinks about how she looks like she probably tore it up in her 20s and isn't really ashamed of it.</p><p>Mickey thinks about all that he knows she is and all that he thinks she might be, and how he’s consistently curious about her. That must mean he is actually interested in another person’s life, their existence, their character, purely for the sake of being curious. It might feel foreign, but it also makes him feel more—<em>normal? human?</em> </p><p>Or maybe it makes him feel more like what he thinks you’re supposed to feel like when you’re around other people. He thinks you’re supposed to relate to people, understand them, connect to them, even if he isn’t totally sure what all those things mean. And he knows you don’t do those things in order to sell drugs, rip them off, pull a scam, or fuck them. Well, sometimes to fuck them. But he thinks you’re supposed to do all of those things because that’s what “normal” people do. People who haven’t grown up either in a cage or under the scrutinizing fists of their piece of shit father. Those people, free of his type of past, are interested in who other people are, they “get to know them”, relate to them, make friends. </p><p>So maybe Mickey might be turning in to some version of one of those people—never all the way one of them, ‘cos his past isn’t going anywhere, but some version where he gives a shit about someone else’s story and has things he can contribute and that’s just that.</p><p>Mickey considers Audre, who's coming to the shop later, and realizes that he might already be that version—that person. He enjoys his time with her, which is odd; he doesn’t enjoy many people. But something about Audre, despite her being all professional and educated and shit, is gritty and raw. She's also honest and doesn't appear to play games, which Mickey thinks is rare.</p><p>Even though she’s older, they always talk like they’ve known each other for years and they’ve found they have things in common despite not seeming to be anything alike. They even go out for beers what might be once a week now, and at this point she knows a lot about him—not everything—which also feels odd, but not bad. So, Audre might be the closest thing he has to a friend—that he has ever had to a friend—and he looks forward to their time together. And he <em>loves </em>working on her car.</p><p>Mickey's rebuilding the engine for the Chevelle, among other things, and he’d just gotten in the carburetor kit that they'd been waiting on for weeks. He’d called Audre the day before and she’s most likely going to swing by in the late afternoon to look at her "baby", and give him some lesson on the first mid-size cars to get an eight cylinder engine. <em>Or some shit like that.</em> So he wants to get everything done and be well into working on the Chevelle before she gets here, knowing she's going to be giddy with excitement over the arrival of the part, and also because she is probably his friend.</p><p>Mickey goes about his morning routine that—just like his night routine—he rarely deviates from. He thinks maybe the one positive thing a young life of institutionalization has given him is the desire for structure, routine, and organization, and his ability to maintain those things. He thinks that and then rolls his eyes at himself. Though he knows some part of it is true, he also knows a lot of it is bullshit, but mostly he knows it’s confusing and detangling it has not been easy. </p><p>Mickey had learned structure, routine, and organization, but he had been forced to learn them. Forced to keep his space organized, be to meals at a certain time or he didn’t eat, schedule and structure everything from his first piss of the day to when he worked out to the time the lights went out. He was forced to learn and practice these things in every cell in juvie, jail and prison, every half-way house, group home, and “transitional home”, ‘cos if he didn’t he wouldn’t survive, especially if running wasn’t an option because the door you slept behind was locked from the outside.</p><p>And since he is being honest with himself he has to admit that there is another part of him that had craved the structure—wanted it—as it contrasted with the constant chaos, grime and mess, turmoil confusion and volatility of his everyday life at the Milkovich house. It meant knowing not only when he was going to eat, but that he was actually going to eat three meals a day. Knowing he had a space that even if it was cold and might have bugs at times, it was mostly clean and wouldn’t be cluttered with stolen property, clucked items from junkies needing a fix, and just general trash. It meant knowing that, even though he might run the risk of getting into a fight or possibly even getting shanked, he wouldn’t have to worry about his pops yanking him out of bed in the middle of the night ‘cos he wanted to go on a run, or send Mickey to collect from someone or just ‘cos he felt like beating Mickey’s ass and reminding him what a piece of shit he was. </p><p>Being in a room or a cage where he knew all of those things to be true was part of the reason he had learned and followed the routines, rules and systems set in place by those institutions. And sometimes, he had even allowed himself to be caught when things in real life were spinning out of control just to have a fuckin' break.</p><p>He could hear the voice of the Danville prison counselor in his head, “Milkovich, you are institutionalized, my friend.” And he knows he was—he is. He had a lot to learn. Either when he was with his father, following the rule of Terry’s law, or when he was locked up in a facility with its own set of rules and internal politics, he was never allowed to act independently or decide what he would do with his own body. He also never had the opportunity to actually learn the type of social and life skills that one often naturally develops when they are free amongst others in society.</p><p>Mickey was never free.</p><p>It was either the institution of Terry Milkovich or that of whatever government system he was living under—Department of Child and Family Services, Juvenile Court, Illinois Department of Corrections… He had never been free. </p><p>Until now. </p><p>And, even though he was on parole, he still felt more free than he ever had. He had his own life and could decide where he would go and what he would do and who he would talk to. And for once, being on the outside was actually significantly better than being inside, so he didn’t want to go back. </p><p>However, he still wanted the organized pattern he had learned. But not because of some militant brainwashing or because he was definitely institutionalized, but partially because it felt familiar and safe and that might have been one of the things he liked most about his life at times. But mostly because it continued to this day, just as it had in the past, to be the antithesis of his life with his father. So he tries to maintain himself in contrast to all the pieces of his past that remind him of who he was when he was with Terry. </p><p>Mickey had realized shortly after moving into his room above the garage that he could do that without being locked up, so that’s exactly what he’s done and what he'll continue to do.</p><p>Mickey’s morning routine sometimes includes a shower and sometimes doesn't, depending on the night before. This morning he doesn't need a shower and begins to move about the room automatically. He starts the coffee, washes his face, then brushes his teeth, combs his thick, black hair—that'll sit under a cap all day—and throws a pop tart in the toaster. Mickey gets dressed and sits in the found-on-the-side-of-the-road chair while he eats his pop tart and drinks his black coffee. He smokes a cigarette or two and then rhythmically descends the stairs ready to start his normal day, at his steady legal job, where he'll get to work on a beautiful car, and later see someone he considers a friend.</p><p>As he hits the floor from the bottom step he feels something stretch across his face. His lips. His lips are doing what? And he realizes he’s smiling. For no reason. Mickey Milkovich just skipping down the stairs all smiley and Zippity Doo Da and shit. <em>What the fuck?</em> He starts to feel the cold darkness in the pit of his stomach and hears that voice in the back of his mind, needling him, tormenting him, telling him he's kidding himself if he thinks he can have anything good. He's a piece of shit, so he should wipe that stupid smile off his face and remember he's nothing but a piece of Southside trash. He feels his jaw clench and his knuckles are white as he holds his hands in tight fists. But that voice isn't his voice. And it's not the voice of any of the people he is surrounded by now. No one in his life talks to him like that. Mickey knows it's the voice of his father—it's the voice of Terry.</p><p>And Terry is dead.</p><p>What did his court-mandated shrink tell him to do? He reminds himself that Terry is gone and that he no longer has control over his life. That how he acts and reacts now is up to him. That he deserves good things. <em>And that Terry was a piece of shit and fuck him anyway.</em> Those last words were his, not his shrink's, but they had been shrink approved for his use. </p><p>He takes several deep breaths, in through his nose, bringing the air deep in his belly and letting it swirl with the negative sludge that sometimes bubbles in there, then he slowly pushes it back up and exhales the tainted air out through his mouth. He calms and resets ready to get to work, reminding himself that no matter what Terry’s voice says, it's gonna be a good day.</p><p>***</p><p>It's almost 11am, and Mickey's already finished the work from yesterday on a blown head gasket for a late 2000s Ford Taurus and a simple tune up on an early 90s Camry—that with 300,000 miles on it is still a better car than the Taurus. <em>Fucking shit cars.</em> He is ready for a break and then to start working on the Chevelle. He busies himself cleaning up the area as he fills with excitement over the new part.</p><p>Unfortunately, his bubble is invaded right at that moment.</p><p>“Hey, Mick-ey.” One of the technicians leans against the Camry, looking over at Mickey with a grin. “What's up with that big redhead that's been in the office with Willie all morning? You think that's his new mistress?”</p><p>“Fuck off, Damon." Mickey refuses to make eye contact. “Don't talk about Willie like that.” </p><p>“Whatever.” The other guy shrugs and squints his eyes at Mickey, distorting the shape of his teardrop tattoo that is faded blue and right underneath his left eye. “You know he's on the down low?" He pauses to get Mickey's response, but when he remains silent the other man continues. "Anyway, <em>canelo</em> in there looks right up his alley,” he says with a wink.</p><p>“Get the fuck away from me.” Mickey looks up, meeting the other man’s eyes with a menacing glare that might work at any other shop, but not one filled with people that have committed various felonious acts and had more than likely caused grave bodily harm on more than one occasion.</p><p>“Whatever, man.” Damon pushes off from the car and starts to walk away slowly. “You know nobody cares, but they look <em>real </em>friendly. That's all.” </p><p>“Go!” Mickey points away from him, anxious for the other man to leave.</p><p>Damon holds up his arms in surrender while smirking at Mickey. “I'm going.” And he walks away still smiling.</p><p><em>What the fuck is he talking about? </em>It's true Willie was on the down low. Everyone knew it, but Mickey tried not to engage in the conversation. People certainly didn't normally talk about it so openly. They respected their boss, felt lucky to have him, but gossip is too tempting, and a group of ex-con mechanics can sometimes be just as bad as a clique of teenage girls. But they never wanted to get caught talking about him, knowing he'd feel disrespected. So normally they would be a little more discreet with their gossip. Then again, Willie normally was too. </p><p>Willie was married and by all accounts seemed to genuinely love his wife, Ana. He had invited Mickey into his home often and Ana treated him like one of her children, fussing over him, over-feeding him, trying to convince him he should go out with her niece because she was sure he was lonely. And maybe he was, but he couldn't explain to her why he not only didn't want to be in a relationship, but that he also didn't want to be with a woman. </p><p>
  <em>"Look at you," Ana had said to Mickey on their first meeting at their house after he had been working at the shop for two months. She had raised her arms in the air like she was going to hug him.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He wasn't really sure how to react so he raised a shy palm and waved, "Hi."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Come on." She gave him a friendly order and signaled for him to get in the dining room. "You need to eat. What the Hell? Is my husband not paying you enough to buy food?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Ana, please, give the kid a chance to breathe." Willie sat down next to Mickey with a plop.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"I don't want to hear it!" Ana threw up one of her golden brown arms that looked sturdy and strong. Really all of her looked like that, and she had long salt and pepper hair that hung down her back in a tight braid. She looked like someone's grandma, but someone's grandma you don't fuck with. "He needs to eat something and so do you. I have enchiladas in the fridge, I'm putting them in the oven." Then she turned and went into the kitchen</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Watch this," Willie whispered to Mickey, then turned towards the kitchen and said, "You always think everyone is starving. That's why all our kids and grandkids are so fuckin' fat." Willie started to chuckle.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Ana stormed out of the kitchen, a tray of cold enchiladas in hand, brown eyes ablaze. "Callate la boca, pinché guero." She looked at him menacingly, pointing at him with a metal spatula that might have been a hundred years old. "I don't wanna hear that shit out of your mouth again. Our children and grandchildren are fucking perfect." She then turned on her heel and cursed in Spanish as she walked away. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Willie gave a full belly laugh, and Mickey found himself cracking a smile, feeling at ease. Somehow feeling at home. </em>
</p><p>But he still wasn't at home enough to tell Ana or Willie he liked dudes, so he spent fifteen to twenty percent of his time with her dodging questions about his personal life, nodding his head and sometimes resorting to lies, which he found oddly difficult to do with her.</p><p>He had grown attached to both of them and thought Willie and Ana seemed like a happy couple. They had six grown kids that they had started having at seventeen, and what seemed like an endless supply of grandchildren and a few great grandchildren. She had stuck by his side through years of bullshit, incarcerations, drugs, and self-sabotage. And she had been a huge part of his recovery and the rebuilding of a life once thought wasted. But he strayed outside of the marriage because even with all those years spent together and all their baby making, Willie was gay, something Mickey still had difficulty wrapping his head around. </p><p>Mickey’s boss had never told him he was gay, just like Mickey had never told him he was, either. No one at the shop knew Mickey was gay. No one knew Mickey was gay except the guys he had sex with and his shrink, who he never actually told he was gay. He just told her: "I like fucking dudes." Mickey's 100% sure the words "I'm gay" have never slipped through his lips. And he would bet those words had never left Willie's either.</p><p>Mickey didn't know if Ana knew about Willie or not. It seemed hard to believe you could be that close to someone for that long and them not know, but he knew from gossip this had been going on for many, many years. The room above the garage that Mickey now lives in was supposedly where he took his flings. One of the guys in the shop said Willie was trying to turn over a new leaf when he had offered the room to Mickey, and no one had seen him bring anyone around since.</p><p>Until today.</p><p><em>What the fuck ever.</em> Mickey grouses, but feels weird inside, like some type of betrayal is setting in. He hasn’t seen his boss’ infidelity and his blatant, yet closeted, sexuality first-hand, and he isn’t sure he's prepared for it. It means seeing a different side of the man that has come to be his mentor and facing the fact that he's flawed. He’s also only slightly conscious of the fact that Willie’s not-so-secret reflects his own, that up until that point he hasn’t felt like he was actually hiding anything from anyone.</p><p>Mickey feels slightly nauseous, but decides he’s going to bust in on the boss regardless because the part for the Chevelle is in there and he isn't gonna wait around until Willie is done getting a hand job to retrieve it. Getting started on the Chevelle was way more important, and at this point he <em>needs</em> to be working on her, and feels that in every cell in his body.</p><p>He rounds the corner and sees the shades are drawn, but he can still see through the glass door. Sure enough there's a tall, muscular redhead sitting on Willie's desk in front of him, heather green tank top, tight dark blue jeans. His arms rippling with muscles that aren't too big, but definitely strong enough to manhandle someone right. Fiery red hair, buzzed around the sides and long on top, swooped back and styled. He feels a slight tingle in his groin that irritates him and makes him roll his eyes.<em> This guy is definitely a queer.</em></p><p>Mickey sees Willie's face beaming and smiling as he looks up at <em>I Love Lucy</em>. He laughs and his hand comes down on the obviously younger man's knee. It lingers there, and Mickey puffs out a breath through his nose and presses his bottom lip to his teeth as he runs his finger across it. <em>Oh, Jesus</em>.<em> I don’t wanna fucking deal with this shit.</em> Mickey raps on the door and Willie looks up with a start, quickly pulling his hand away, cheeks reddening.</p><p>“Mickey, come in.” Willie gestures for Mickey to enter and puts on a nervous smile for him.</p><p>Mickey enters the room and glances over at the redhead, whose white freckled arms are crossed in front of him. Mickey looks away quickly, maybe too quickly, and focuses on his boss, who is running his hands through his white hair, still thick despite him being a man in his early-sixties.</p><p>“Mickey, this is Ian Gallagher.” Willie gestures over to the redhead.</p><p>Ian smiles and holds his hand out to Mickey. “Hey, how's it goin'?” </p><p>Mickey looks at him with a puzzled expression and holds up his greasy blue rag, waving back at him, making it clear he won’t be shaking his hand. “Hey,” is all that he responds and then turns his gaze back to Willie again. “I came for the carburetor for the Chevelle. It’s right behind you.” Mickey gestures behind the older man, trying to keep the frown off of his face.</p><p>“Oh, yeah.” Willie swings around and grabs the boxed part off the floor then hands it to Mickey. “So, Ian is starting with us today. He’s gonna be assisting and doing tech work.”</p><p>Mickey is quiet for enough time to make the air tense and somewhat uncomfortable in the small room. “We don’t need any technicians. Damon's doin’ fine and I handle my own shit.” Willie sits back in his chair and looks up at Mickey confused, furrowed brow and pursed lips.</p><p>“We can definitely use the help since O'Malley violated his parole and Jonesy's going part time, and you shouldn’t be doing all your clean up and detail work yourself, it takes up time you could be doing repairs.” Willie gives Mickey a sideways look. “I’m gonna want you to show Ian around after lunch.”</p><p>“No can do.” Mickey swipes his thumb across his nose, refusing to make eye contact, knowing he's out of line and behaving like a shit. He has never talked to Willie like this, but can't seem to stop himself. “I gotta get to work on the Chevelle; Audre’s comin’ by later.” Mickey turns around and yells out the office door. “Hey, Damon!”</p><p>“Whatda fuck do you want, Mick-ey?” Damon yells back, purposely drawing out his name.</p><p>“Boss needs you to show the new guy around.”</p><p>“Whatever.”</p><p>Mickey turns to see a shocked Willie, staring at him. “Gotta go. See ya.” He nods at Willie, but refuses to look at the man sitting on the desk, who is looking at him with arched eyebrows. Mickey turns on his heel and heads out the door before Willie has a chance to say anything.</p><p>Mickey stalks across the shop and drops the carburetor by the Chevelle parked in the back of the garage. He feels his chest tightening and notices he seems to be panting. He's sweating and his vision is narrowing and getting blurry. Mickey rushes to the bathroom, not bothering to close the door. He faces the white sink that's smudged with dirt and grease and splashes water on his face as he continues to gasp for air, taking in quick shallow breaths as he feels his heart race. Mickey's light headed and before he even realizes it, his legs give way underneath him and he collapses on the floor.</p><p>***</p><p>"Wake the fuck up, Milkovich." Mickey feels a cold, calloused hand slapping his face. "<em>Wake the fuck up."</em> He hears Rita-Mae growling at him before he sees her. Feels her slapping him firmly, trying to get him to open his eyes, which he does, and he realizes he's on the bathroom floor, but he still can't move. </p><p>Rita-Mae, who is a tall, broad-shouldered, African-American woman is stronger than most women—at least Mickey thinks she is—and she definitely works out, but it's still surprising when she crouches down and lifts Mickey up off the ground, hoisting him over her shoulder.</p><p>"Whathafuck, Rita-Mae?" he hisses weakly, not wanting to draw attention to himself from others in the garage, and not really strong enough to mount a huge protest as his limbs are still trembling.</p><p>"Shut the fuck up, Milkovich. You’re such a pain in the ass." She ignores his protest. "You can't walk and we gotta get you up to your room before anyone else sees you like this."</p><p>Rita-Mae pokes her head out of the bathroom, making sure the coast is clear and then hurries to the stairs that are luckily close by. She makes quick work of them and gets them inside his room without anyone noticing. Once inside, she not so gently flops Mickey down on his bed, causing him to land sideways, his head bouncing off his pillow. Mickey groans loudly, trying to focus and figure out what's happening. </p><p>"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Rita-Mae shoves a glass of water in his face, forcing him to sit up to drink, which he does with great effort. "Saw that shit in the office. Why were you fuckin' talking to Willie like that? Actin' so weird. Then you run off and have a fuckin' panic attack in the bathroom? What is going <em>on</em> with you, Milkovich?" She settles her fists on her hips and for a minute, a genuine look of concern breaks through her one of annoyance. </p><p>Mickey looks up in time to see Rita-Mae's expression as she takes her cap off, revealing her closely shorn hair that is perfectly hemmed around the edges and he thinks for a minute, <em>she must do that at least once a week,</em> before he's snapped forward by her kneeling down in front of him, her face only inches from his.</p><p>"Is this about Willie bein' gay?" she asks quietly.</p><p>"What, no." Mickey breathes raggedly and shakes his head. "No. I knew about that."</p><p>"Him cheating?"</p><p>"No, come on Rit—"</p><p>"Then what?" She interrupts him, her light brown eyes growing wide, piercing him, like she's trying to look inside his muddled brain. "What's the fuckin' problem, Mickey?" It doesn't escape him that she's using his first name—something she never does with anyone but Willie—and he feels something coming off of her that suspiciously resembles caring.</p><p>But he can't tolerate it. And he can't tolerate her questions because he doesn't know the answers. "Leave me alone." He looks down at his hands that are still trembling slightly and shakes his head.</p><p>Rita-Mae slaps her palms to her knees and pushes herself up into a standing position, towering over him and letting out an exasperated sigh. "Fine. What the fuck ever. But you better get your shit together. Eat something, lay down, jack off… Whatever you need to do, but don’t let the rest of the assholes down there see you like this. You ain't in prison anymore, Milkovich, but you know these motherfuckers ain't gonna let weakness slide. You’re lucky I’m the one that found you."</p><p>"I’m not weak." His protest sounds childlike, and he regrets opening his mouth as soon as it comes out.</p><p>"Mickey." Her voice is soft, but her tone is stern and she commands attention, so he looks up at her, and he can't help but marvel at how statuesque she looks as he cranes his neck up. </p><p><em>Statuesque. How do I know that word? </em>Mickey thinks, and is obviously detached from himself somewhat. Rita-Mae looks down at him, her face softening slightly. "Mickey, listen to me.” He snaps back again and sees that she's serious. “I don’t think you're weak, but you just had a panic attack in the fuckin' bathroom and passed out after seeing the boss hitting on another man. It’s not a good look. Get your fuckin' shit together." She pulls his hat from her back pocket and tosses it to him then turns to walk away.</p><p>"Rita," Mickey half whispers, his throat feeling dry and like it’s full of cotton. She turns to look at him, her eyebrows arched above her big expectant eyes. "Um… I just… uh." He chews on the inside of his lip and hears his own breath hitch.</p><p>"You're welcome." Rita-Mae saves him from having to choke out words he finds really hard to say. She turns to leave and walking out the door she turns and faces him one last time. "Figure this shit out, and get it the fuck together. You got too much going for you to start losin' it now." With that, she slams the door behind her and stomps loudly down the stairs.</p><p>Mickey drops his face into his open palms and there is a tightness in his chest again, the feeling that is so very different than the one he woke up with. This one, however, may be more familiar. He pushes back what feels alarmingly like tears fighting their way out. "Get it the fuck together." Mickey tells himself gruffly and slaps himself in the face. He knows this is the type of shit people tell their therapists about, but the thought of that makes his stomach turn. He's not new to panic attacks, but he's never had one like this and he feels trapped. Mickey tries to think of ways to escape this cage his brain has created and he closes his eyes so tightly it hurts.</p><p>Then, without warning red hair flashes behind his eyelids and it feels like he's choking, like he's being punched in the gut, like he's dying. And, once again, Mickey passes out.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello Everyone!</p><p>I want to start by thanking you for reading, and bravely starting this WIP with me. I am striving for consistency and plan to update once a week on Sunday nights (PST), but that may change in the future. I promise to keep you all updated either way.</p><p>I want to give a big thank you to my beta @whaticameherefor! I appreciate all of your feedback and keeping me in the proper tense at the right time (not an easy task).</p><p>As we move forward, I will be adding more tags as chapters are posted. There will be some depictions of violence and sexually explicit material, but I will work to make sure those things are tagged properly and noted at the beginning of the chapters.</p><p>I want to state that this fic deals with anxiety and anxiety attacks as well as processing of trauma and therapeutic treatment. It's important for me to state that all of these things are drawn from personal and professional experiences, but that they do not reflect everyone's experience. It is also important for me to acknowledge that everyone's experiences are valid and unique, and they are also powerful.</p><p>I truly hope you enjoy You Deserve Good Things, I welcome your comments and feedback, and look forward to this journey with all of you.</p><p>Lastly, please be kind to one another, but more importantly be kind to yourself.</p><p>💖,</p><p>The Black Cat</p><p>P.S. If you are interested you can find me on Twitter: Chat_Noir91213 or Tumblr: chat-noir12.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter has some references to violence, domestic abuse and neglect of children.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mickey wakes up an hour and a half later, drenched in sweat with a pounding headache. He looks at the clock and sees that it's one pm, knowing if he hurries he won't have to say more than he took a long lunch. He doesn't have time to think about what happened or how it happened, so he stuffs it away not really believing he's gonna circle back around on it, but telling himself he will. He gets up and strips off his clothes. Not having time for a shower, he wipes himself down with a warm washcloth and puts on his other work jumpsuit. He smooths his hair back and puts on his cap.</p><p>His body feels weird, his limbs heavy, his lips tingling, his face numb. And his head… His head is so...fuzzy. <em>What happened?</em> He shakes his head side to side and for a minute he starts to see himself walking into Willie's office like it's someone else's memory, but before he can fully get inside the room he stops himself—or the self in his mind—dead in his tracks. "No," he says, "put it away. Put that shit away." He stuffs it. Stuffs it deep inside the recesses of his mind. He can't do this. He can't do this right now. </p><p>Mickey sits by his window in his found-on-the-side-of-the-road chair and smokes a cigarette. He notices his hands are steady now and he knows he's starting to get back to himself. He can feel his face and his limbs are lighter. Mickey's back in his body, and he finishes his cigarette and takes a deep, deep breath, scrubbing his hands across his face. "Get your shit together, Mickey." He gets up and heads down to the garage hoping no one noticed what happened in the last two hours—no one but Rita-Mae that is. </p><p>The garage is buzzing and everyone has their heads down in their work or are flat on their backs under a car. The Chevelle is tucked in a corner since it is a long-term project and a lot of it is obscured from others' view. Mickey likes it that way, but today he is thankful. Thankful to the god of panic attacks for shielding him from scrutiny. But really it's Rita-Mae and the necessity of placement of the muscle car that saves him. </p><p>Mickey doesn't quite understand why Rita-Mae helped him, but he isn't gonna ask. He finds her intimidating, which he would <em>never </em>admit. It isn't just that she's physically imposing—he's pretty sure she's almost six feet tall and she's kinda built like a quarterback—because at five foot seven inches, he's used to people being bigger and stronger than him. It never stopped him from a fight. But with Rita-Mae, it's the way she looks at people and talks to them.</p><p>She doesn't take any shit from anyone. Not one ounce. She runs the garage for Willie when he isn't around and, honestly, even when he is. It's her crew of fuck ups, criminals and former gang bangers, and not a one of them dare talk back to her or even question her. She never smiles and doesn't really talk that much. When she was in his room earlier it was the most he'd heard her say at one time ever. Maybe more than she'd said in the last six months. Usually one well-placed look would tell you all you needed to know—words were not necessary. So, he isn't gonna say shit to her and he hopes she's done talking to him for another six months. The whole thing was embarrassing and weird and… scary.</p><p>Mickey can’t really afford to stop and think about it. Can’t really stop to reflect, agonize or ponder or whatever the fuck people do when they are trying to figure their shit out. He can’t afford to analyze his thoughts or behavior or <em>feelings</em>. <em>Jesus</em>. He knows he's done some of that with the shrink, but he can’t just let it all go right now or he might not be able to pull it back together. And there’s zero time to be falling apart in the middle of the garage. Absolutely none.</p><p>Mickey immediately immerses himself in his work, not stopping to think. Thinking is dangerous. He keeps his head down, and focuses on the Chevelle, slick and formerly shiny black, with a couple big matte gray splotches from the Bondo used to repair dents. Clanking metal, grease, sweat—all of it makes sense. Makes way more sense than anything else right now, and that he appreciates.</p><p>Pieces lock into place, they get greased, they get tightened. The pieces of the puzzle come together and he feels an enormous calm wash over him. With every nut or bolt or linking piece of metal, more and more tension leaves his body and he is grateful. For what? He isn’t sure. The car? It’s just as deserving as anything else—probably more so. He lets out a long ragged breath and checks the time. Somehow three hours have passed and he has made satisfying progress on the Chevelle, enough that he feels good about Audre showing up, which she will at any moment. </p><p>Mickey gives himself a little satisfied smile, wipes the sweat from his brow and looks up just in time to see Willie standing in front of his office with the redhead, who is standing way too close, his sharp left hip only an inch—maybe less—from Willie’s side. Willie’s face is flushed and he is running his hand down his well-groomed white goatee. The taller, younger man throws his head back and laughs. It sounds authentic, but Mickey thinks it’s ridiculous. The whole thing is ridiculous, and he sets his jaw as he starts to feel his body go rigid.</p><p>Mickey's breath is coming through his nose, hot and forceful. He feels his fist clench and he wants to go over and rip Gallagher away from Willie. Grab him by his muscular bicep, that bulges as Gallagher reaches up to Willie’s shoulder, squeezing it slightly. <em>Such long fingers…tall, pale…</em> <em>and his body. Fuck.</em> <em>Why does he have to look like that? </em>Mickey feels his eyes stinging and he shakes his head, turning back to the car.</p><p><em>Fucking Willie. Why is he doing this? Why does he have that alien looking fucker here? Why does he have to do this here?</em> Mickey squeezes his eyes together and presses his palm to his temple. “Fuck,” he says out loud, but under his breath.</p><p>“That’s quite a greeting, Mickey.” Audre pivots on her feet around him and slides down the side of the car a few inches, bowing down a little to look at Mickey’s face that is still turned downward. “What the fuck’s up with you?” She stands up straight immediately.</p><p>“Uh, nothin’.” Mickey realizes he's acting weird and he knows her well enough to know she notices <em>everything</em>. Up to this point he has yet to get away with anything in her presence. It’s like she can read his mind half the time, and he hates it, but he also likes not having to always explain himself. She just knows. But today he <em>really</em> hates it, and so he works hard to pull it together.</p><p>“It’s just been a long day. I started work early.” He pulls a smile on his lips that he hopes doesn’t look fake. He feels himself want to smile, but he doesn’t know if it translates to his expression. From the furrowed brow and quizzical look he’s getting from the woman in front of him, he feels like it isn’t.</p><p>“Whatever.” She rolls her eyes and shrugs her shoulders. “How’s my girl?” Audre smacks Mickey on the back and leans down to look inside the car with him.</p><p>He lets out a puff of air and feels himself relaxing a little bit again as he shows her under the hood and then the carburetor kit and the progress he’s made. They talk about possible parts that are still needed and she tells him what she’s found and the prices. They both talk with childlike enthusiasm and play off each other's excitement.</p><p>Since this is such a special project and since original parts for this car are so rare, Willie’s letting Audre and Mickey do some parts hunting independently, instead of the normal process of ordering through him and the shop. The whole thing adds a layer of excitement and makes it almost like a game for the two of them—like a scavenger hunt. Mickey pulls out the notebook he's keeping on the Chevelle, so they can compare notes.</p><p>“What’s—” Audre looks down, grabbing at the cover to the notebook. “Whatha? Are those kittens, Mickey?”</p><p>Mickey snatches the book back. “Cut it out, Audre,” he says through gritted teeth.</p><p>She lets out a full belly laugh. “Whatever, dude, I love kittens. It’s no big deal.” She smiles with mirth in her eyes.</p><p>“Willie’s granddaughter gave it to me for Christmas.” He looks at her eyes wide and hands on his hips, eyebrows arched up. “Hmm. What? She’s five. Like I’m gonna waste a perfectly good notebook because it has kittens on it?”</p><p>“It’s very frugal of you. And it’s very cute.” She lifts the corner of her mouth, and it forces a smile out of him—a real smile that he is grateful for.</p><p>"Don't kitten shame," he jokes. </p><p>She giggles and shakes her head. “Pfft. Let’s go have a smoke.” She gestures for him to follow and he isn’t gonna turn down a smoke break so he does.</p><p>They prop up in the alley behind the shop on the other side of the dumpsters from the wide open garage door, Mickey double checking behind it for any sleeping homeless person or passed out drunk. Audre pulls out her weird "organic" cigarettes that take fifteen minutes to smoke and offers him one.</p><p>“Naw,” he waves her off, pulling out his Camels, “I don’t have all day to smoke a fucking cigarette.”</p><p>She laughs out loud again as she lights their cigarettes with her Zippo, looking at him wryly.</p><p>“What?” Mickey holds his hands out, palms up and shakes his head at her.</p><p>“You gonna tell me what the fuck is up with you?”</p><p>“Is that why you asked me to come out here? That’s pretty fucking sneaky.”</p><p>“You’re obviously off your game today, Mickey.”</p><p>“I fucking hate that you see everything.”</p><p>“Whatever, you love it.” She flicks her cigarette and blows out a plume of smoke. “So, give it up. What the hell is up with you?”</p><p>“Uhhhh.” He lets out a long ragged breath and scrubs his hand down his face for the fiftieth time this afternoon. Pushing his bottom lip into his teeth with his thumb, he stops and looks at her. “I had an anxiety attack this morning.”</p><p>“It’s been a while, huh?” She says in a matter of fact, yet sympathetic manner.</p><p>“Yeah, but this one was different.” He looks down, shaking his head. “Like do people normally pass out from panic attacks?”</p><p>“You passed out?” Audre tilts her head, looking at him, concerned.</p><p>“Yeah, in the bathroom."</p><p>“Jesus, Mickey.” Audre’s brow furrows. “I thought someone had stolen a project from you or Enzo was being an even bigger asshole than usual—I’ll never let that asshole work on any of my cars again by the way. Have I told you that?”</p><p>“Yes, Audre, you told me. And, you’re right, he is an asshole, but that’s not what’s wrong—not right now anyway.”</p><p>“Dude, if you passed out—”</p><p>“Heeeeey, Audre.” She is interrupted before she can get the thought out by Damon sauntering around the corner, looking particularly blurry eyed and smug for some reason. And he is followed by none other than the tall ginger. <em>Fuck</em>.</p><p>Audre pulls back a little and looks at Damon curiously. “Are you high?” she asks.</p><p>“What?” Damon seems taken aback, which is odd because he’s always high. He’s more than likely surprised someone actually said something about it.</p><p>“Yes, of course he’s high.” Mickey gestures at Damon, trying not to look at Gallagher, his mere presence sending what feels like shockwaves down his limbs and to his fingers and toes. He feels himself starting to vibrate with anger. “What do you want, Damon?” Mickey asks through gritted teeth.</p><p>“Oh!” Damon snaps back and looks at Audre while pointing back at Gallagher. “Boss wanted me to introduce Ian to you.”</p><p>“What with my VIP status and all?” she says sarcastically.</p><p>“You drop enough money here—”</p><p>“Damon, shut the fuck up,” Mickey grouses.</p><p>“Hi, I’m Ian.” Ian cuts through the tension smoothly, stepping from behind Damon and extending his hand to Audre, who takes it readily.</p><p>“First day?” She asks with a genuine smile.</p><p>“Yeah, I’m gonna start working with Damon tomorrow.” Ian smiles at her and he glances over at Mickey, who immediately looks away. Ian shifts his glance back to Audre. The exchange between the two men does not go unnoticed by her.</p><p>“You’ve got some soft hands, kid. I’m gonna guess you haven’t been working at any auto shops recently.”</p><p>“No.” Ian gives a sideways smile that catches Mickey’s eye, causing him to stare at Ian’s mouth, which just makes him get angrier. “I actually just got out of Dixon,” Ian tells her. “And I know you.”</p><p>“Yeah?” Audre’s mouth quirks.</p><p>“Yeah, well, not really. You worked there, right?”</p><p>“Yeah, I was putting in some part time hours over there up until about six months ago.” Audre nods her head with a smile.</p><p>“Doing what?” Mickey is irritated. He isn’t sure why, but it feels like another betrayal somehow. He didn't know she had worked at the prison. It bugs the shit out of him that Gallagher knows something about his friend that he doesn't. <em>Fuck this guy</em>.</p><p>Audre turns and gives Mickey a look that translates to “what the fuck is wrong with you?”</p><p>“Therapy. Mickey.” Audre nods her head and raises her eyebrows. “I’m a therapist, remember?”</p><p>“You’re a professor.”</p><p>“And a therapist.”</p><p>“Yeah, but not for convicts.”</p><p>There is an awkward silence, where Audre continues to look at Mickey like he has three heads, and Ian and Damon shift uncomfortably back and forth.</p><p>“Anyway.” Audre swings her attention back to Ian. “I do remember you now. You saw Rebecca.”</p><p>“I did. She was great.”</p><p>“Agreed. They hook you up out here with someone?”</p><p>“Yeah.” Ian nods his head, still smiling and looking warmed by his interaction with Audre. </p><p>“Because you have to advocate for yourself. The system doesn’t give anyone shit out of the kindness of their hearts. If you don’t speak up for yourself, no one will."</p><p>“I have someone good.” Ian smiles and gives a reassuring nod.</p><p>“Good. I’m glad you're out. And this is a good landing spot. Known Willie for a long time. He’s a good man, and this is a good crew.” She gives Mickey some side-eye, but smiles brightly at Ian.</p><p>“Thanks,” Ian smiles back again, almost looking bashful, and he waves as he turns to walk away with Damon.</p><p>“Take care of those soft hands.” she teases and waves as well. "And, Damon, drink some coffee before you drive, please."</p><p>"Yes, ma'am." Damon throws up a peace sign and follows Ian inside.</p><p>“What’s up your ass?” Audre whips around, looking at Mickey.</p><p>“What?” Mickey almost whines, shrugging as he looks at her defensively.</p><p>“You know you were acting like a shithead, right?” Audre cocks up one eyebrow.</p><p>“You said it yourself, I’m off my game today.” Mickey throws down his cigarette and immediately lights another.</p><p>“Yeah, alright. Use my words against me.” She attempts to take a drag off of her cigarette that has gone out with all the talking and she has to relight it.</p><p>“Those cigarettes are ridiculous.”</p><p>“You’re ridiculous.”</p><p>The silence lasts for about thirty seconds while they both smoke, leaning up against the wall, thinking. </p><p>Mickey breaks the silence first. “So, what about the panic attack?”</p><p>“What about it?” Her words sound flat.</p><p>“You gonna tell me if that shit is normal or not? What am I supposed to do?”</p><p>“Call your therapist, Mickey.”</p><p>“What? You were all eager to get me out here and find out what’s wrong.”</p><p>“Yeah, ‘cos I thought someone had peed in your cheerios, not because I was eager to intervene in a mental health crisis.”</p><p>“I’m not—" Mickey lifts his hands up in the air. “What are you talkin’ about? I’m not having a mental health crisis.”</p><p>“You blacked out during a panic attack. That sounds like a crisis.” She turns and looks at him soberly. “Call your therapist.”</p><p>“You <em>are</em> a fucking therapist.”</p><p>“But I’m not <em>your </em>fucking therapist.”  Audre looks him in the eye, her expression softens. “I’m your friend. And I’m not here to fix you. That wouldn’t even be right for me to try to do. Learned that the hard way. Multiple times.” She pats him on the shoulder and starts to back away. “I’m your friend, Mickey. And the owner of the sexiest car in Chicago. Talk to you in a few days.”  She keeps backing up, but before disappearing into the garage she flicks her cigarette down the alley and mouths “call your therapist”.</p><p>Mickey gives her a sad smile and waves. <em>Fuck she’s right.</em> He hates that. He also hates that it’s the end of the day and he isn’t totally sure what to do with himself. He has to go in and clean up, but he really doesn’t want to see Gallagher again or anyone else, really. He’s over today and over everyone involved in today, including himself.</p><p>Mickey peeks around the door and sees the coast is clear. He walks quickly over to the Chevelle and starts cleaning up the area, trying to set the stage for tomorrow. He knows he'll have several regular shop jobs to do, but they aren’t set up yet, at least Rita-Mae hasn't given him anything yet. So his plan is to actually do the opposite of today and get up early to work on the Sexiest Car in Chicago before he has to start working on what will most likely be a decidedly unsexy car. He also thinks that working on the Chevelle first could help him start the day grounded. </p><p><em>Grounded? Jesus.</em> </p><p>Going to therapy and hanging out with Audre was making him think and say some weird shit. Un-Mickey type shit. He can pretend he hates that too, but if he’s honest with himself he definitely doesn’t. He has tools now to help with his feelings and words to describe those tools and those feelings. And he's going to need all of that right now. <em>Fucking feelings.</em></p><p>“Hey.” A soft voice jars him from his thoughts. He looks up to see none other than Ian Gallagher, standing in front of him.</p><p>“Yeah?” Mickey says coldly, returning his gaze to the car.</p><p>“That’s a really nice car you’re working on,” Ian says, trying to make conversation.</p><p>“Yeah,” Mickey agrees, continuing to not look up.</p><p>“Do you need any help?”</p><p>“No, I don't need any help.”</p><p>“Okay, I just thought maybe—”</p><p>“Well, you thought wrong.” Mickey slams the hood down and meets Ian’s gaze, his blue eyes angry and still.</p><p>“Listen, Mickey…” Just then Willie’s car pulls up in the alley, honking his horn. He sighs. “I gotta go; boss is giving me a ride.” Ian gestures back to Willie.</p><p>“Is that what he’s doing?” Mickey looks up, biting his bottom lip, nostrils flaring, and lets out a sarcastic laugh. “Hmmpf.”</p><p>“Have a good night, Mick.” Ian starts to back away, giving him a sad smile.</p><p>“It’s Mickey.” He looks Ian dead in the eye as the other man shrinks away, looking sad and dejected, and turns around, leaving Mickey feeling guilty. For a minute he feels a dull pain in his chest.</p><p>“Later, Mickey!” Willie waves and Mickey’s gaze jerks ahead to see Ian jump in the passenger seat of Willie's '64 Impala as Willie settles his hand on the head rest behind Ian.</p><p>His momentary feelings of guilt and whatever the fuck that other thing is quickly dissipates and it feels like he is breathing fire, scorching his nostrils and causing him to gnash his teeth. <em>Fuck him. Fuck Willie. Fuck Gallagher. This is bullshit.</em> Mickey feels like his sanctuary has been invaded and is beyond agitated that the world he had spent all year convincing himself was safe was all of a sudden causing him to feel like the old Mickey. Angry, disillusioned, despondent. </p><p>
  <em>Why is this happening? It isn’t fucking fair.</em>
</p><p>Mickey throws his rag to the ground. He feels like the need to escape, but he doesn’t know where to go. He runs up the stairs to his room and tears off his clothes, getting into the shower. Mickey scrubs himself harshly, feeling like he's scrubbing the day, scrubbing Gallagher, scrubbing Willie, scrubbing infidelity, cheating, and lying all off his skin until it is red and angry. He washes his hair and rinses himself off, almost enjoying the sting the shampoo causes in his eyes on its way down his face.</p><p>Mickey proceeds to dry off and get dressed. He is angry and seething and can’t control his emotions. “Fucking Gallagher.” He starts mumbling to himself. “His stupid fuckin’ smile. And sad stupid face and Willie’s fucking hand. <em>Fuck</em>!” It's all so overwhelming, and Mickey isn’t sure how to calm down. He finishes getting dressed and takes off out the door, headed for a bad idea.</p><p>***</p><p>Mickey hates Boystown. He fucking hates it. Hates how loud and vibrant it is in the early part of the night. How seedy and dirty it can be in the back rooms and alleys. And hates how sad and desperate it gets at the end of the night. But here he is, escaping to it. Already feeling desperate. </p><p>He’s no stranger here; he's spent plenty of nights at this particular club even before he was locked up, but tonight feels different. Mickey feels like an intruder, like he’s out of place. And he feels an unease with his surroundings that reminds him of how he used to feel when he first ventured here. When he was still under his father's reign. When he was still very much afraid of being who he was. The music seems louder and the lights more intrusive, the dancing bodies, slick with sweat, are somehow offensive. He feels angry and afraid and “fucking faggots” quietly leaves his lips before he even realizes it. </p><p>Mickey shakes his head and squeezes his eyes tight. He breathes deep several times and reminds himself that it’s okay to be here. That no one is going to “catch him” or think less of him or be angry with him. That it’s okay that he's gay. And right now a gay distraction is what he wants.</p><p><em>Pull it together.</em> He tells himself roughly and proceeds to make his way to the bar, plopping down on a stool.</p><p>“Hey.” The bartender says. He is familiar to Mickey; they've had friendly banter in the past, but Mickey isn’t in the mood to be friendly. Still, he tries to keep his cool, wanting to maintain some type of relationship. A friendly bartender is an excellent asset to have. “How’s it going tonight?”</p><p>“Good,” Mickey lies. “Thanks, Man.” Mickey accepts the whiskey with a beer back the bartender puts in front of him; Mickey being a creature of habit, rarely deviates from his order.</p><p>“Really?” The bartender turns his head to the side and scrunches up his nose. Mickey thinks to himself that he’s cute and has had that thought before, but he isn’t what Mickey normally finds attractive. And it’s never a good idea to fuck the bartender anyway. He figured that out by trial and error. “‘Cos usually good looks a lot better on you.” The bartender smiles, winks at Mickey and glides away, heading to take the drink order of some other lonely soul or reveler.</p><p><em>Fuck that guy. Forget about the fact that he’s right. </em>He’s <em>not</em> good. He’s the opposite of good. Probably even worse than that. He’s fuckin’ terrible, but he’s here to try to feel a little less terrible if possible, and hopefully get a certain redhead and a closeted old man out of his head.</p><p>The more he gets hammered the more he realizes that the alcohol is not the cure he was hoping it would be, and a few times he startles because he thinks he sees him. Sees Gallagher. Sees Ian. Luckily, it isn’t him, and Mickey sighs deeply each time. <em>Fuck</em>.</p><p>Five whiskeys in, a tall, beautiful blond plops down on the stool next to him, swiveling around to look directly at Mickey. “I’ve been watching you all night,” the blond drawls, leaning on the bar, obviously flying high on something, black mesh top sticking to his chest, a kaleidoscope of light dancing off his slick skin.</p><p>“Oh, yeah?” Mickey raises his eyebrows, scowling.</p><p>“Yeah.” The blond smiles, and touches the cuff of Mickey’s blue button up with his well-manicured fingernails. “You look sour.”</p><p>Mickey sits back and looks at the other man, trying to decide if he wants to tell him to fuck off, punch him in the face, or both.</p><p>The blond leans in and whispers in Mickey’s ear, “Let me take you in the back and suck that sour look off your face.” Normally he would hate this type of come-on, and truth be told he hates it right now, but he's also feeling outside of himself again. He figures this may be the best offer of a distraction he's going to get. </p><p>He jumps off the barstool without a word, puts a few bills on the bar, nodding to the bartender and starts to walk toward the back area. He stops and sees the other man is still at the bar. “You comin’? This was your idea.”</p><p>The blond jumps off his stool enthusiastically and joins Mickey. “Sorry, I didn't know that meant yes. I’m—”</p><p>“I don’t give a shit what your name is,” Mickey cuts off the other man and strides ahead of him.</p><p>From that point everything moves like a dream, in slow motion and almost quiet despite the fact that there is deafening music thump thumping all around them. He finds himself pushed up against a wall, leaving his head turned to the side where it lands when a kiss is attempted. </p><p>“Okay, fine,” Mickey’s companion says. “I don’t need romance.” He drops to his knees in front of Mickey and starts to undo his pants. </p><p>Mickey feels his body being tugged as his jeans are unbuttoned, but it’s like it is happening to someone else. He is yet again not inside his body and he can almost see himself, watch himself. <em>What are you doing, faggot?</em> The voice in his head says, but this time it isn’t Terry’s voice; it’s his own. As soon as the other man pulls Mickey’s cock out, Mickey reaches down and shoves him to the ground.</p><p>“What the fuck?” the blond yells at Mickey, who puts himself away and fastens his pants, quickly leaving the back room. His quick pace turns to a full sprint, putting as much distance between himself and whatever happened in there. </p><p>Mickey runs and runs and runs, at one point stopping and realizing he isn’t sure where he is. He drops to the ground out of breath and sweating, his head pounding and he just wants to lay down right there on the spit, gum, and cigarette butt covered sidewalk and go to sleep.</p><p>But instead, he does something he swore he would never do. He orders an Uber with the smartphone he wouldn't have if Willie and Ana hadn’t insisted he accept it as a gift at Christmas. And the ride is paid for using the debit card that he only has ‘cos Larry insisted all his parolees have “the building blocks for financial independence,” so he had helped him open a bank account. </p><p><em>Who the fuck am I?</em> He breathes out a wet, desperate gasp and fights back a hot prickle of tears as he wipes his eyes and waits for his ride.</p><p>***</p><p>Just like yesterday morning, Mickey wakes up before his alarm, but this time it's in a pool of sweat. His breathing is labored and he can’t seem to get enough air into his lungs. He gasps and coughs, sitting up to try to open up and catch his breath. Flashes of the nightmare he just woke up from hit his senses. <em>A boy screaming. Terry’s voice. The sound of crushing bone. The smell of blood. Pain in his temple and in his gut. </em></p><p><em>Now this is familiar. This feels like how Mickey Milkovich starts his day.</em> He doesn’t get to pretend to live someone else’s life this morning. </p><p>His breathing slows and he swings his legs off the bed, taking a deep breath and attempting to let it out slowly. It doesn’t flow out smoothly and he feels it flutter on his lips. He feels the lump in the pit of his stomach.<em> There you are.</em> Mickey puts his palm over his tummy and looks down at it. <em>Didn’t think I actually got rid of ya. Howya been?</em></p><p>Mickey chews on the inside of his cheek and moves to the window where he sits in his boxers in the found-on-the-side-of-the-road-chair and lights a cigarette. He looks out into the still, dark morning, everything quiet but a faint sound of a truck backing up somewhere in the distance. He smokes and scratches at his forehead. At this time of morning everything has a blue hue to it, like it's about to wake up. Like it wants to, but it's still dreaming. Things are illuminated by both the descending moon and the emerging sun and the clash of almost light makes everything visible, but somehow still in the dark. Mickey thinks it might be his favorite time of day. He feels like the only person awake and he's sharing a secret with the coming dawn. He just isn't sure he understands what the secret is. Not yet. Maybe someday.</p><p>Mickey closes his eyes and lets out another long breath before taking a drag of his cigarette. “You can’t do this,” he tells himself, but he isn’t entirely sure what it is he's telling himself he can’t do. Is it that he can’t lose his shit and freak out? Is it that he can’t start having nightmares again every night? Or is he telling himself he can’t actually live like this? Live the life of a normal person, or a person as normal as he could be? He isn’t sure. Maybe the “this” is that he can’t work with Gallagher. <em>With Willie. With Ian. </em></p><p><em>Willie with Ian.</em> </p><p>“Ugh!” he yells, smashing his palms into his eyes. Most likely it’s a little of all of these things, but he isn’t entirely sure.</p><p>“Fuck it.” He shakes his head, puts out his smoke and grabs his phone off the found-on-the-side-of-the-road nightstand. Mickey dials up his therapist's number. He knows she won’t answer, but he wants to leave her a message before he completely pussies out. </p><p>
  <em>“Hello you’ve reached the confidential voicemail of Maria Russo, Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist. Operator, this phone does accept collect calls. If this is a life threatening emergency please hang up and dial 9-1-1 or go to your nearest emergency room. I am unable to take your phone call at this time. Please leave your name, number, and a brief message and I will return your phone call as soon as possible. Thank you and have a great day.”</em>
</p><p>“Uh,” Mickey stutters into the phone. “Maria, this is Mickey… Milkovich. Uh, I really need to see you as soon as possible. It’s not an emergency or anything, but I think it’s pretty, whaddya call it, urgent?” He pauses then says quickly in one breath, “I had a panic attack and passed out and the nightmares are back. Call me before eight a.m. or I’ll check my messages at noon. As soon as you can. Call me. Please.” He hangs up the phone and lets out a ragged breath, feeling like—no, he was sure—that he sounded like an idiot. <em>Fuuuuuck</em>.</p><p>Something resolves in Mickey at that point and he decides, without realizing he has made a decision, to not let whatever is going on inside of him impact his day. He lights another cigarette and then works on breathing exercises that his shrink taught him to do in order to get his breathing back to a normal pace. When he can finally exhale with few hitches he knows he's ready.</p><p>He goes about his morning routine, showering and getting ready. Coffee, pop tart, another cigarette and he’s ready for the world. He thinks. He hopes.</p><p>***</p><p>He gets down to the floor at 5:45am—plenty of time to get work in before anyone else shows up and fucks up his day. By the time Rita-Mae shows up at seven o’clock and rolls up the garage door in front, he has already gotten over an hour of work done on the Chevelle and he feels calm and connected.</p><p>
  <em>Connected to what? </em>
</p><p>His body? The car? His nerves? He isn’t sure, but whatever it is, it is plugged in and he feels like himself again. Or at the least the version of himself that has been around lately. He knows that can be shattered at a moment's notice, but he really wants to try to keep that from happening, and is going to pull out all the tricks. </p><p>Mickey knows that the redhead is going to be there today and that his presence could set him off. Knows he might see him with Willie, which would definitely set him off, but he can’t control their presence. He can only try to control his reaction. <em>Sure. Easy enough.</em></p><p>“Rita, what do you have for me today?” Mickey asks, head down over the carburetor he's puzzling together.</p><p>“Boring shit on ugly cars you’re gonna complain about,” she yells over without turning to look at him. “You call your therapist?”</p><p>Mickey jumps back from the work table and spins around to look at her with wide eyes. “What the fuck, Rita-Mae?” Mickey yells, holding his hands out to the side.</p><p>She turns around slowly, one eyebrow cocked up, lips set in a line. She doesn’t say anything, but she is obviously irritated with his tone, and he gets it immediately.</p><p>He sighs. “I mean… Why would you just yell that in here?”</p><p>She holds her arms out palms up and gestures around the wide open space with a scolding look. He gets it. No one is there, but he still feels weird. </p><p>“And everyone here knows you go to court ordered therapy. So does that fuckin’ pot head, Morales. Calm the fuck down.” Rita-Mae stares him down for a little bit longer until he looks away from her and to the ground.</p><p>“Yeah, but you don't ask Morales.” he says and his voice cracks a little. Rita-Mae nods, acknowledging this truth, but keeps her eyes on him, expectantly. “Yeah, I called and left her a message this morning.” He sees her expression has softened and he kinda hates it, prefers her scowling at him. “So you can get off my fuckin’ back now.”</p><p>She automatically flips him off, but her expression stays the same as she turns to go into the office. “Name’s on the clipboard of your jobs. It’s a slow day. Doesn’t mean it’ll stay that way so wrap up what you got going there by eight.”</p><p>“You got it,” Mickey says, relieved for a normal piece of conversation and to no longer be talking about his need for therapy or seeing Rita-Mae’s concern or whatever the fuck that was.</p><p>***</p><p>Willie usually comes in closer to eight o’clock, after everyone else has trickled in. Really, everyone is supposed to be there at seven, but only Rita-Mae is ever on time, and Mickey is always already working by the time she gets there. Enzo, who's the third full-time mechanic in the shop, is usually there shortly after Rita-Mae, as is Jones on the days he works, which lately isn't much.</p><p>Then there's Damon, who often rambles in around seven-thirty or so. This morning, the latest addition to the dream team, Ian Gallagher, rolls in with Damon at seven thirty-two, chatting and sipping coffee from paper cups. </p><p>“Morales!” Rita-Mae yells from the office doorway, looking down at her clipboard with the day's jobs on it.</p><p>“Yeah, boss!” Damon walks up, redhead in toe. Mickey looks over at the scene like it’s in a movie, feeling completely disconnected from it, and glad for that.</p><p>“What time do we start work around here?” she asks with a steely glare.</p><p>“Uh...” Damon is looking at her with something similar to surprise on his face. “Is this a trick question?”</p><p>“De Luca,” Rita-Mae yells over to Enzo who is already elbows deep in a 2011 Camaro, which makes Mickey bitterly jealous.</p><p>“Yeah, Reets,” Enzo looks up, “what’s up?”</p><p>“What time do we start work here?”</p><p>“Seven a.m., boss.” He looks over at Mickey and winks before turning back to the Camaro, raising his eyebrows when he looks at the car and then looking back at him again, taunting him just enough to raise Mickey's hackles.</p><p><em>What a dick. Can’t fucking stand that guy.</em> Mickey shakes his head at him and lets out an annoyed puff of air.</p><p>“Milkovich?”</p><p>“Seven a.m." Mickey says soberly, rubbing his greasy hands with his blue rag.</p><p>“What time did you start work this morning?” She looks over at him.</p><p>“Five—”</p><p>“That’s not fair; he lives here,” Damon interrupts Mickey in protest. “And he goes balls deep in that fucking car whenever he gets the chance. I bet he fucking sleeps in that bitch.”</p><p>“Shut the fuck up,” Rita-Mae says bluntly, only raising her voice slightly. Mickey is enjoying this morning more and more. “Gallagher.” she says, turning her attention to the redhead. “I know that Willie told you to shadow Damon and that you would be working with him, and I realize that this knucklehead probably told you to come to work at seven-thirty ‘cos that’s when <em>he</em> starts work—maybe even gave you a ride?”</p><p>“He—he did,” Ian stutters, and then Mickey remembers that he's there. He starts to feel heat swell in his chest, but he can’t be sure what the feeling is that is attached to it, so he decides to ignore it, pretend it doesn’t exist and continue to watch the show.</p><p>“I understand, so today is not your fault.” She steps closer to both men. “But tomorrow you better be here at seven sharp. You got that?”</p><p>“Uh, yes, uh…” Ian stumbles over his words and it is painful. Mickey almost feels sorry for him, and thinks absentmindedly how he looks like a lost puppy. “... ma’am?”</p><p>“Lord.” Rita-Mae shakes her head and lets out an exasperated sigh, rolling her eyes. Mickey chuckles under his breath. He can’t lie, he’s thoroughly entertained at this point. “You can call me Rita-Mae or ’Boss’.” She turns to head back into the office. Without turning around she yells, “If you have transportation issues talk to me about it. Both of you go get changed and get back in here for your assignments and so I can make sure to prevent Gallagher from forming any bad habits before he even starts.” </p><p>Mickey is sure that she is more irritated by the fact that she has to talk to them than she is that they're late.</p><p>Both Damon and Ian stand frozen for a second. Mickey crosses his arms in front of him and he watches as the first few rays of sun slide over the top of the building across from them, beaming down into the garage and illuminating the copper hair on top of Ian’s head. It glints and shines and Mickey is held breathless by the sight. He is frozen in place and can’t take his eyes off of him. The red glow turns into a golden outline around the pale skin of his profile and lights up his eyes, gleaming and emerald. He looks like art and Mickey can't feel his body once again.</p><p>“Go!” He is snapped out of his trance by Rita-Mae yelling at the other two men, who had also been standing as if hypnotized, but for a very different reason. They both spring into action, quickly passing by Mickey and running to the locker area. And Mickey starts breathing again, left feeling confused and afraid.</p><p>***</p><p>Mickey walks into the office to look at the jobs assigned to him. He sees Willie in his chair, looking over some spreadsheet on the computer, and he tries to avoid eye contact. He knows it’s stupid and isn’t actually achieving anything good, but he can’t seem to will himself to turn around and look at his boss and mentor.</p><p>“Mickey.” He hears Willie’s chair creek as he sits back in it, obviously to get a better look at the younger man in front of him. Willie says his name softly and without any irritation or quandary in his voice.</p><p>“Hey, boss.” Mickey slowly turns around, but is having trouble making eye contact still. He feels shy all of a sudden and realizes he's also experiencing something else he isn't sure about, but he thinks it might be shame.</p><p>“Mickey, look at me,” Willie says in a soft, but paternal voice as he gets up to close the door.</p><p>The younger man lifts his head to meet the gaze of the man that, up until yesterday, he had never had a problem looking directly in the eye. Willie sits down and points to the fold-up chair in the corner, which Mickey quickly sits in. He feels like a little kid and his shoulders hunch forward as he kicks his legs underneath him.</p><p>The air is thick and there is an awkwardness that hangs there that neither of them quite know what to do with. Willie’s soft blue eyes look tired and sad as he furrows his brow. Mickey feels like he needs to say something, but he's struggling to find the right words because he isn’t quite sure what needs to be said.</p><p>“I—I’m sorry about yesterday,” Mickey finally sputters out, returning his gaze to the ground, somewhat surprised by his shift in attitude toward the situation and his own feelings of guilt.</p><p>“I’m sorry too,” Willie says sincerely and without hesitation. Mickey looks up, startled by the apology. <em>Why is he apologizing?</em> Mickey was the one that acted like a little shit, was insubordinate and rude. <em>What is going on here? </em>Sure, he was surprised that he apologized, but he is even more surprised that Willie is.</p><p>“You are?” Mickey isn’t sure what else to say.</p><p>“Well.” Willie leans forward and puts his hands on his knees, bowing out his elbows and he looks dead in Mickey’s eyes, his own eyes, framed by crows feet and punctuated by the milkiness aging can bring. “Let me be clear. I’m sorry because I think that yesterday you saw something you didn’t want to see and maybe you and I should have talked about that sooner, but—”</p><p>“Stop.” Mickey holds up one of his hands. “It’s your business.”</p><p>“It <em>is</em> my business, Mickey.” Willie searches Mickey’s face for signs of what to say next. “But you obviously have some really strong feelings about it. And you were fuckin’ straight up rude to Ian.”</p><p>Mickey is quiet, but he feels his blood boiling, thinking about Willie touching Gallagher's leg and their not-so-subtle touches in the garage in front of everyone and the redhead’s exaggerated laugh and stupid <em>fucking </em>smile. </p><p>“What are you doing?” Mickey finally snaps, looking into Willie’s eyes.</p><p>“Excuse me?” Willie raises his eyebrows.</p><p>“What about Ana?” Mickey's volume increases and his eyebrows hit his hairline as his eyes widen.</p><p>“Mickey, listen—”</p><p>“No, I don’t wanna listen.” Mickey stands up. “I changed my mind. I’m not sorry. And I don’t want to fuckin’ talk about this anymore.”</p><p>“Sit down, Mickey.” Willie holds his hand up, his voice firm and directive.</p><p>Mickey settles down, but his agitation is hitting peak levels. He feels his palms sweating and his jaw aches from being clenched together so tight.</p><p>“Listen to me.” Willie looks Mickey directly in his angry blue eyes, that are glassy with rage and potential tears that he would never let fall in front of the older man or anyone else in this fucking garage for that matter. “You don’t have to agree with what I do or like it, but you have to show respect for me in front of the others.”</p><p>Mickey turns his head as hot, angry air flows from his nose. </p><p>“Mickey.” Willie once again commands Mickey’s attention and he turns to look at him. “And you have to work with Ian. He isn’t going anywhere and you don’t have the option of ignoring him, blowing him off, or being a complete fucking jackass to him. Not anymore than you would anyone else anyway.”</p><p>“Fine,” Mickey says through clenched teeth, looking up at Willie like a petulant child. “I can do my fuckin’ job as long as he does his and doesn’t get in my way.” </p><p>As Mickey gets up to leave, Willie lets out an exasperated sigh, one that says he's feeling like nothing was actually accomplished.</p><p>Mickey heads to the door and with his fingers gripped around the brassy doorknob, he turns to look at the man he had started to consider a father figure and says, “You should think about Ana.”</p><p>Willie starts to get to his feet, but before he can say anything, Mickey is out the door, clipboard and keys in hand, heading to do boring shit on an ugly car.</p><p>***</p><p>Mickey  gets finished with his first car by lunchtime and knows he'll probably have to deal with Gallagher after lunch 'cos his next job is more complicated. He's not looking forward to it and he races up to his room to try to relax and eat something before he has to face whatever demons are dwelling in his gut. </p><p>There is a mix of relief and dread when he sees he has a voicemail. He knows it’s either Audre or his therapist, and he’s actually feeling a great deal of angst about it being either. So of course it turns out to be both of them. </p><p><em>“Mickey, this is Maria Russo. Please give me a call. I will have my phone on between noon and 1:00pm so I can take your call. I’d like to see you as soon as possible.” </em>There is no urgency in her voice, just the usual calm, even-keeled therapy voice that she always has. It’s soothing most of the time, and has a cadence to it, a rhythm, that could almost lull you to sleep.<em> It’s some kinda fucking shrink trick they teach them,</em> Mickey thinks and purses his lips together.</p><p>However, Audre, who is also a therapist, apparently missed class that day. Either that or she just doesn’t use it outside of her office because she is loud, has a wide range of emotions in a single conversation, and swears as often as she can. Her speech has a rhythm too, but it far from puts him to sleep. Yet, somehow she still manages to calm him despite being brash and the opposite of his therapist.</p><p>
  <em>“Hey! Milkovich. Yesterday fuckin’ sucked. Let’s go get a goddamn beer after work today or tomorrow. I’ll buy the first round, you shithead. I found a dive I like near my place. Text me and let me know. I’ll send the address. Later.”</em>
</p><p>He sighs deeply, flopping back on his bed, wondering how the fuck he was all of sudden surrounded by all of these fuckin’ women who he found himself depending on. He had never had a strong female presence in his life, so the fact that he was lousy with it was almost funny to him. </p><p>His mother had disappeared when he was not more than three years old, at least that’s what he was told. And he isn’t even sure what “disappeared” actually means. Through the years his father’s story, and that of his older brothers' as well, morphed and changed. He was never really sure what the truth had been, but he remembers from an early age being told that she had “run off”. </p><p>The thought transports Mickey to one of his earliest and most vivid memories. One where he can’t be more than three years old. </p><p>
  <em>He is sitting on a ratty torn up couch, feet dangling in front of him, legs so short that they are at least a foot from the dingy worn carpet below. His baby sister, an infant at the time, is thrust roughly into his arms by their mama. The baby is crying and he is rocking her, trying with all his strength to wrap her blanket around her as she squirms and wails. He is trying to cradle her like his mama showed him. But he is small and not as strong as he wishes he was. Mickey struggles, and finally gets her in his arms just right to be able to rock her back and forth and whisper in her ear. “It okay, baby,” he says to her. “Shh. Shh. S’okay, Mandy.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You’re a fuckin’ whore!” There is a crash and shouting in the next room and he knows it’s his father, but Mickey refuses to be scared. He is brave and he is strong. That’s what his mama told him. She told him not to be afraid and no matter what to take care of his baby sister. He is being brave and he is holding Mandy and he is not afraid of his father.</em>
</p><p><em>Mickey rocks Mandy as she is finally soothed and falls asleep in his arms.</em> </p><p>And that is where the memory ends.</p><p>Mickey sits up on his bed and sighs deeply. He thinks that might be the last memory he has of his mother and she's barely in it. Mickey knew that she was gone after that, and despite initially being told she had left them, his father would slip from time to time, as the years went by, that she was dead. However, at other times, it seemed his father wasn’t sure. Once he even thought that his brother Iggy made it seem like she was locked up somewhere.</p><p>Mickey still isn’t sure, but is too afraid to find out the truth. He had certainly never really tried while his father was alive. He wonders if one day he should try to find her now that Terry is dead. Find out if she is alive and if she is, then where the fuck she's been. </p><p>After his mother was gone the options for female energy in his life were greatly limited. Foster mothers didn’t count and he rarely stuck around to get to know them. First chance he got, he would snatch Mandy up and they would head back to their dump of a house where he and his brothers—if they were around—would scrape, hustle and steal to survive until they were either hauled away again or their father got out of prison or he did whatever it was he had to do to get the kids back.</p><p>The only other woman who had been in his life was his aunt, his father’s sister, who would take the kids in from time to time, especially when his father was locked up so that social services wouldn’t take them, but she wasn’t always able to do that and she had gotten really sick when he was in his early teens. Still, she had been kind to them, unlike anyone else in the family and she was the only woman he had been around consistently, with the exception of a few social workers that they were on a first name basis with. So he was left with at least some feelings of fondness and affection connected to a feminine entity.</p><p>But now… now he had three women all up in his shit, telling him what to do and how to act and to get his shit together… <em>fuck</em>. But he's pretty sure that some part of him likes it. He just doesn’t get why. None of them were particularly motherly, and they were all pretty different, but he isn’t sure he has been around women enough to completely understand them. Maybe it doesn’t matter. <em>Is he better with them around? Jesus.</em> Too many questions. But he thinks he’s probably at least feeling grateful even if he would never admit that to any of them.</p><p>And then there is Ana. Ana who <em>was</em> maternal and who doted on him and did everything for him but wipe food off of his face when he was around her. She was in his life, giving him advice, telling him he needed a girlfriend, worrying he was starving despite a soft layer around his abdomen. But right now he couldn't even face her and the thought of her hurt his chest. <em>Fucking Willie.</em></p><p>Mickey sighs deeply and runs his hands down his face. He throws a frozen mini pizza in the microwave, wishing he had thought to throw it in the little oven when he first got up there. <em>It’s gonna be all rubbery and weird. Fuck me.</em> </p><p>He picks up his phone and calls Maria Russo, Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist, who, just like she said she would, picks up the phone.</p><p>“Hey, uh, Maria, it’s Mickey. Milkovich,” he says slowly while biting on his bottom lip.</p><p>“Hello, Mickey,” she says. She sounds kind and like she's glad that he called. “Can you come in tomorrow morning? I have a cancellation at 8:00am. I think it would be good if you came in as soon as possible.” She doesn’t sound alarmed, but “as soon as possible” makes Mickey feel less than at ease.</p><p>“Yeah. I mean I have to clear it with the boss, but she should be okay.” Mickey nods even though he knows she can’t see him.</p><p>“Great. I’ll put you down for the appointment. If you can’t make it, just leave me a voicemail by the end of the day.” </p><p>“No problem.” Mickey pauses for a second and then says quickly, “Thank you, Maria.”</p><p>“You’re welcome, Mickey.” He thinks he can hear her smile. “I’ll see you in the morning.”</p><p>“Okay. Bye.”</p><p>“Goodbye, Mickey.”</p><p>They hang up the phone and he realizes he had been holding his breath. They weren’t even doing therapy. <em>What the fuck is wrong with me?</em></p><p>Mickey clicks into his messaging app. Ughhh. Is she gonna give him shit again. <em>Fuck. Fuck it.</em></p><p><strong>Mickey: </strong> Aye. Let’s go today. Send me the address. </p><p>Surprisingly, Audre responds immediately.</p><p><strong>Audre:</strong> Tits!</p><p><strong>Audre:</strong> I'll look it up and send it in a sec.</p><p><strong>Audre:</strong> 🤙</p><p>And that makes him smile.</p><p>He plugs his phone in and sits by the window to smoke and eat his rubbery mini pepperoni pizza, praying to whatever lesser god was listening that he could get through the day.</p><p>***</p><p>"Mickeeey." Damon draws out his name and slides up next to him. </p><p>"What?" Mickey is abrupt and irritated as fuck, knowing what's coming next. He looks at Damon, whose bloodshot eyes are more red than usual, puffs out air and rolls his eyes. "Aren't you piss testing for parole?"</p><p>"What?" Damon asks, slack jawed. "Oh! No, man, that ended like two months ago." He smiles widely. </p><p>"Yeah, alright, makes sense." Mickey turns back to his work, “Whaddya need, Damon?"</p><p>"It's not what I need, it's what you need."</p><p>"I don't need anything."</p><p>"Well it's what the boss needs then."</p><p>"What? What the fuck then, man?" He spins around quickly, beyond irritated and gets a face full of Gallagher. His jumpsuit is tight across his chest and he's towering above him. <em>So fucking tall.</em> Ian has a cautious smile on his face and he shoves his hands in his pockets.</p><p>"Boss wants this car done and road ready by three thirty. The customer needs to be on the road before four, so she said to have Ian help you." Damon throws up a peace sign and walks away with a stupid stoned grin on his face.</p><p>"Fuckin' fine." He whips around and looks at Ian, ready to fire off at him, but when he turns, Ian has taken a step closer to him and he looks up into bright green eyes that seem to see him. And he feels stripped and bare, which in turn makes him feel angry again.</p><p>"Look, Gallagher, I like working alone, I don't like having to teach people everything, and I really don't like people getting in my way."</p><p>"Mickey." Ian moves forward another six inches. "Are you really gonna act like you don't know me?"</p><p>Mickey is silent; he looks up into the pale face, peppered with freckles and notices a freckle on the taller man's eyelid. It's darker than the others and almost on the seam. It seems perfectly placed, and Mickey is lost to it. For a second. Until he remembers the stupid fucking question Gallagher asked.</p><p>"Yeah, alright." Mickey takes a step back, looking at Gallagher. Looking at Ian. "But I didn’t think you'd want me bringin' it up, but yeah. You're that, uh. Gay Jesus. Right? Blew up a van. Exciting stuff, man. I guess you’re used to being a celebrity. Sorry I didn’t mention it."</p><p>Ian rolls his eyes at Mickey, who pretends not to notice. "Come on, Mickey."</p><p>"Okay." Mickey gets loud and completely ignores what Ian is saying—ignores the accusation of familiarity. <em>Who does this fucking guy think he is?</em> "So, here's what we're gonna do. I'm gonna give you a task to do and you're gonna do it and we’re not gonna chit chat. Ok? You got followers you can talk to if you get lonely."</p><p>"But— " Ian tries again.</p><p>Mickey is having none of it. He doesn't want to talk to the guy, doesn't want to know him. He just wants to work and be done with it so he can clean up and have a fucking beer with his friend. He turns back to the car.</p><p>"So we got stuck finishing up this catalytic converter from this piece of shit ‘80s Chevy Celebrity that <em>shouldn't even still be on the road.</em>" Mickey's voice gets louder at the end of the sentence and he directs his voice toward the other side of the garage. "Isn't that right, Lor-enzo?"</p><p>"What?" Enzo yells back.</p><p>"Yeah, you heard me." Mickey then mumbles, "You piece of shit."</p><p>"You bitchin' about that cat again, Milkovich?"</p><p>"Fuck you. Suck my cock."</p><p>"You're not my type," Enzo says in a sing-song voice, chuckling to himself.</p><p>"Asshole," Mickey says under his breath and turns back to the car and Ian fuckin' Gallagher.</p><p>They work the rest of the shift with very little conversation and minimal eye contact. Ian follows Mickey’s directions, and although he has some questions, they aren’t excessive or annoying. Actually, Mickey is surprised and loath to admit that Ian seems to already have some understanding of what they are doing and is quick to pick up on direction. </p><p>The job had already been partially complete from the day before, so with two sets of hands they were able to finish up before three thirty, even with a test drive that went a little further than usual—Mickey wanting just a few more minutes to breathe and be away from the redhead. There was still time for Ian to clean up the car a little before the customer’s arrival.</p><p>“Make sure to wipe down the steering wheel and the inside door panel.” Mickey throws Ian the keys and starts to walk away when he feels a large hand come down on his shoulder. Mickey gasps and jumps away like he’s being burned. “What the fuck, Gallagher?” Mickey tries not to yell, but his words are intense and his voice is raspy. He starts to shake, trying to get himself under control and not lose his temper. “Don’t you dare fucking touch me,” he whispers in Ian’s face with venom in his voice. “Ever again.”</p><p>Ian searches his eyes and furrows his brow. “But…” Before Ian can finish his thought, Mickey runs to the bathroom and away from the object of his angst.</p><p>Mickey splashes cold water on his face and then washes his hands. He had managed to get through two and a half hours of working with the guy without any incident. No accidental touches, or unnecessary conversation, no lingering looks or even fucking eye contact. And then he touched him. He fucking touched him. What the fuck was wrong with that guy? He didn’t want him to touch him. He didn’t even want him anywhere near him, but he had little choice about that. </p><p>Mickey had to work with the guy and he couldn’t really complain. He told Willie how he feels. He knew it wasn’t going to change anything, and he knew he was going to have to learn to deal with it or…or what? He doesn’t finish that thought, knowing it was going to be something he didn’t even want to consider. This is where he is and where he is going to stay, so unless he can figure out a way to get rid of that ginger fuck, this is where he is going to be.</p><p>Mickey cleans up his hands and arms with the weird orange smelling pumice soap they used that scrubs away the grease from their skin. It is rough and gritty, but he loves the smell and it starts to calm him down as it enters his nostrils. The sight of the grey water cascading off his arms and hands and swirling in the sink—a sign of the day being washed off his skin—calms him further as he watches it disappear down the drain. The frustration and discontent and anger and fear is scrubbed raw from his skin and sent down to a watery grave.</p><p>He shakes the water from his hands and lets out a long breath that says “you’ll be okay.” And as he dries off his arms and hands, he thinks that he might be alright as long as he can avoid Gallagher the rest of the day and get his ass to wherever the fuck Audre is so he can have a fucking beer.</p><p>“You’ll be okay, asshole,” he says to his reflection before he leaves the bathroom to wrap up his work day and get the fuck out of dodge.</p><p>***</p><p>Audre’s return text is waiting for him when he gets up to his room. He quickly cleans himself up and heads out to find his friend and the round of drinks she promised. </p><p>The bar is a dive. And not like in a fun hipster sort of way. It’s a straight crusty dive, equipped with an ancient bartender that could probably still kick someone’s ass or at least be able to draw a gun quick enough to shut you the fuck up, an assortment of barflies and a few worn out pool tables with a set of biker looking dudes at one and a few middle aged construction worker types at the other. It smells like stale beer and cigarettes and the lighting is dark, probably concealing some of the grime and dinginess of the decor. </p><p>Mickey isn’t surprised Audre decided this is her spot, but he is surprised this place is in this area. It isn’t the fanciest of neighborhoods. He hasn’t been to her place, but he knows where she lives. It’s not upscale, the neighborhood is modest, but still decent and it certainly doesn’t scream <em>seedy dive bar</em>. Yet, here it is. </p><p>Audre is sitting at the bar and has said something that caused the bartender to let out a painful sounding raspy laugh that then turns into an emphysema coughing fit. He waves at her and walks away to finish hacking up a lung at the other end of the bar and take a shot of whiskey.</p><p>“Mickey!” Audre greets him by giving him a firm pat on the back and a gracious smile.</p><p>She disarms him immediately and he lets out a deep breath as he settles onto his stool. </p><p>“You a beer deep already?” he asks her teasingly.</p><p>“Two.” She smiles wryly and lifts her glass to him. “Hey, Bob,” Audre calls down to the bartender who has luckily survived and he lifts up his head and nods in their direction.</p><p>“What can I get for ya?” he asks, sounding just as creaky and raspy as Mickey expects—exceeding his expectations, really.</p><p>“I’ll get a shot of Jack with a beer back,” Mickey states, shrugging off his hoodie and putting it on the back of the stool. “Wow, Audre, this is …” He is momentarily speechless as he scans the room.</p><p>She backhands him lightly across the shoulder, which makes them both chuckle a little. And he thinks that is a good sign that he'll be ok. At least tonight. At least right now. </p><p>“Shut the fuck up. I like it here. The drinks are cheap, Bob over there tells me I’m pretty and that I remind him of his third wife—who was the only one he ever really liked and it gets me free drinks—no one is trying to be something other than who they are, and I have a .01% chance of running into someone in here I work with or teach.” Audre shrugs and sits back.</p><p>Mickey nods and smiles. “Makes sense.” </p><p>They sit for a while and banter. Mickey tells her about the work he did on the Chevelle that morning and then about the other less than sexy cars he worked on. And also about how Enzo got to work on a fifth generation Camaro and was a dick about it. </p><p>Audre tells him about the class she taught that morning and the obnoxious twenty-something with no life experience she was pretty sure Chicago was going to swallow whole. “Wants to ‘make a difference’.” She smiles into a grimace, throwing up air quotes.</p><p>“What, you don’t believe they can?” Mickey asks, sincerely feeling confused, not because he believes this person can make a difference, but because he expects she would.</p><p>“I think that what their definition of ‘making a difference’ is, is unfortunately very different from what ‘making a difference’ actually looks like. You don’t always get to see the <em>difference</em> you’ve made. Some days--most days--it might feel like you're spinning your wheels. Same people rotating in and out." </p><p>She shrugs and continues. "You might get lucky and run into a former client five years down the road cashiering at the corner market, but they're gonna act like they don't know you 'cos even if what you did helped them you still symbolize someone they used to be that they don't want to be anymore. They don't need the reminder. But it’s not about you. The work is about them." She shakes her head. “That kid is not gonna get to make the kind of difference they think there should be. And that is going to be a gorilla size slap in the face when they figure that out.”</p><p>Mickey nods. He feels like he understands. He has had enough interactions with social workers and do-gooders at this point to know the type she’s talking about. The type that wants to fix everything and thinks they know how to do it. What the answer is for the "client", "consumer", "convict". They have the magic, the cure. They are going to fix the broken person in front of them. Save them from their family, their neighborhood, themselves—as long as they do exactly what the case manager, therapist, social worker thinks is the right thing to do. They know best, after all. They have the moral high ground—or that's what they believe. </p><p>The younger ones were crushed when you "failed", took it personally. It was 'cos you didn't trust them, didn't listen to them. You just didn't try hard enough 'cos they did everything they could do. Or so they thought. And the older ones—well, they were the former younger model at one time after all—but they would become just fucking bitter and pretty much expected you to fuck up, so at some point it didn't really matter. He knew the type. And she was right, Chicago would eat them alive because their view—their perspective—was narrow. They didn’t see how everything they were stepping into was so much more complex, so much more complicated. They worked for the system and everything was black and white.</p><p>But Mickey remembered the best social workers were always the ones that knew that things weren’t that simple, that not only knew there was a gray area, but that’s where they operated from. They straight talked you, listened, tried to work with you around the system that they also knew was fucked up. They were "creative" with their interventions, and we're realistic about the outcomes. They did what they could, knowing shit was still gonna be fucked up and they were just trying to make it a little less fucked up. Maybe plant a seed that could become something good one day, but nothing was getting fixed or cured. Not right then, and the ones that knew that were the best.</p><p>They were the ones he respected and sometimes still hears in his head telling him he’s better than he knows and stronger than he thinks he is and they hope one day he knows that too. Mickey kinda wishes they could see how he’s doing now. Maybe not the last few days, but see that he mostly believes now that he is better than he thought he was and stronger than he knew. He thinks they would be proud.</p><p>Mickey bets Audre could probably be one of those social workers, which then reminds him of an earlier annoyance that is still irritating him, and his focus shifts, sitting and ruminating on it for a few beats.</p><p>"Hey, how come you never told me you worked in the prison?” Mickey finally gets up the nerve to ask her after he orders another pint and is a few sips in.</p><p>“What, are we dating now?” She frowns with humor in her eyes.</p><p>“Seriously, though, Audre. I thought besides teaching you only had like, fancy clients.” Mickey was kinda quiet in his response, trying to fight a weird feeling in his chest.</p><p>“Uuuhhh. It’s complicated.” She leans back in her seat.</p><p>"I don't have any place to be." He leans back also and raises his eyebrows.</p><p>"Listen, I'm a sellout." His friend starts, looking down to her beer. “A sell-out teaching the next generation of do-gooders." She is quiet for a minute and Mickey lets the silence sit there between them, not wanting her to leave the story there, but not wanting to press. "You know I had a whole other life before I came to Chicago?"</p><p>"Yeah, I remember. You're from California." He lights a cigarette and smiles. "You're like 100% from California."</p><p>"Shut the fuck up. At least I don't say 'hella' anymore."</p><p>"What?" He gives a breathy laugh. "No shit. That's terrible."</p><p>"Fuck you," she laughs quietly and smiles, which quickly fades. "Look, before I moved out here I was a psychotherapist for the prison system back there. I worked at a little place called San Quentin. You heard of it?"</p><p>"I know you're joking." Mickey looks at her sideways. "Of course I've fucking heard of it. Did your work with Manson?" He leans over and lights her ridiculous cigarette.</p><p>"No," she smiles again. "Ole Uncle Charlie was already in Corcoran at that point."</p><p>"Where the fuck is Corcoran?"</p><p>"Exactly." Audre grins, but her smile fades quickly this time. "Before that I was a fucking child welfare social worker in San Francisco. Before <em>that </em>I did some youth rehabilitation program for a county juvenile probation department. And on and on..."</p><p>Mickey sits heavy in his chair, taken aback, and they are silent.</p><p>"I've seen a lot of wounded people, my friend. Only so much of other people's pain you can carry around you know? Even if you think you've dumped it, little pieces of it are left behind. Trapped in your gray matter. I couldn't take it anymore. I lost my shit. Like full-on lost my shit." She bites her bottom lip and runs her finger down the condensation on her pint glass.</p><p>"My good friend who teaches at the university convinced me to move out here, helped me recover and get settled. Helped me get a job teaching. Eventually I started taking on therapy clients. The fancy ones." She looks over and smiles at Mickey. "The ones that make enough money to pay me a lot of money to listen to problems that my former clients would have rolled their eyes at. The 'walking wounded' we call them." She grimaces and makes a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.</p><p>"So why the hell would you chose to work with a bunch of fucking criminals? Even part time?" Mickey scoffs.</p><p>"The short answer is 'cos I got so fucking bored." She laughs.</p><p>Mickey smiles and looks down at his beer.</p><p>"But, also, I missed it. I missed working with real people with real wounds that maybe I can’t fix, but I can give them something more than they’re getting now. And I felt guilty that I wasn't trying to help them as best as I can. Those people in pain. I got tired of being a sellout, taking the easy route. I was supposed to be tougher than that. And I wasn't."</p><p>She takes a long drag of her cigarette and he studies her profile, thinking this is the only time he's ever seen sadness in her. Maybe something else. Maybe regret. "I was a fucked up kid from a fucked up family and was never supposed to amount to shit, so I promised I was gonna try to do my best to help other fucked up people 'cos I get it and not everyone does. </p><p>"And I still want to keep that promise, Mickey. But I can't do it all the time. Not like I did. So extra help at the prison when they need me is perfect. I can stave off my guilt and actually give some assistance to people that really no one else gives a shit about. That's it." She throws up her hands. "There's my monologue. You're welcome."</p><p>"That's really heavy." It's all he can say. He isn't sure what to think of her now. This new information changes her in his eyes, but also just makes her make more sense. </p><p>She turns to look at him first, dead in the eye. "You got pain, Mickey." It isn't a question, it's a statement, an observation.</p><p>"What?" He's startled. She knows a lot about him, but not everything, so although he knows she knows he has been in prison and that he has anxiety attacks and that he comes from the Southside, he didn't really think she knew more than that.</p><p>"You got pain. Maybe someone else's, but most likely yours. I don't know." She pauses and looks at him, considering. "Maybe both. It sits behind your eyes. Even when you smile, which you don't do that much. They're sad. I know you had to have been through a lot."</p><p>He looks at her spooked, speechless. </p><p>"No, no one told me shit and I'm not a fortune teller, but I probably could make bank if I opened up a shop." She muses then her face goes sober. "Well-adjusted people from functional families rarely end up in prison, Mickey. And most of the time you don't make the journey down that road without getting slashed and torn along the way.” </p><p>Mickey is slack-jawed, holding his breath. It makes sense when she says it, but it's still weird to hear her say it out loud. And so blunt. More blunt than his therapist. And he feels so fucking raw. </p><p>"I've said enough. I don't wanna totally scare you off. I still need you workin' on my baby, and I also don't have a single soul in my life who would meet me in a place like this for a beer, but you." She raises her glass and clanks it against Mickey's, but after a pregnant pause she looks at him again.</p><p>"Okay, I lied. I’ll say one last thing. That shit ain't gonna go away pretending it never happened or denying who you actually are without it. You let your past and your pain define you, let it guide your actions in the present, and you'll never heal. But if you're comfortable with that because it's what you know, it's what's familiar, then hey…" She shrugs. "… you do you."</p><p>He is still quiet, stunned into silence until his voice cracks and he says, "Yeah." Looking down in his lap and clearing his throat. "Yeah." He says a little louder and looks up to meet her gaze.</p><p>Some time passes with no conversion, but it's not uncomfortable, just thoughtful. Someone puts Bob Seeger on the jukebox, and Mickey wonders how he knows the song.</p><p>
  <em>Workin on our night moves</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Tryin to lose the awkward teenage blues</em>
</p><p>Finally, Audre speaks. "Wanna tell me why you got so butt-hurt that the new kid knew I had worked at the prison? You looked like I cheated on you." She laughs into her beer. "Which by the way, you aren't my type, and I'm positive I'm not yours either."</p><p><em>What does that mean?</em> He wants to ask, but isn't sure why he even thinks it's a weird thing to say, so he pushes it out of his mind.</p><p>"No." He looks away and downs the last drop of beer, nodding to Bob for another. "I mean I don't really know."</p><p>"You got a real stick up your ass about him," she observes.</p><p>"I don't wanna talk about that fuckhead," Mickey says, feeling his face get red. </p><p>"Alright, alright," she says, putting her hands up as a sign of surrender. "But since you're already irritated with me…"</p><p>"What?" He asks pointedly and looks at her with pursed lips. "What are you gonna say?"</p><p>"Did you call your therapist?"</p><p>"Fuck." he sits back and sighs. "Yeah. I'm going to see her tomorrow morning."</p><p>"Great." She smiles. "Now let's do a shot and talk about something else, like that Camaro in the shop today." </p><p>"I bet Enzo fucked that car up."</p><p> "Without a doubt."</p><p>"What a fuckin' asshole."</p><p>They fall into a natural light-hearted conversation that gives Mickey a strange swelling in his chest. And they keep talking. About everything. They talk about the carburetor. They talk about the new hole-in-the-wall burger joint down the street from the shop. They talk about Larry Seaver's sock puppets and Audre laughs so hard she can't breathe. She gives him a history lesson on the Chevy Camaro that is so detailed, he is in awe that she is able to keep all that information in her head. And they talk and drink and talk some more, and he feels this intense gratitude that he actually has a friend. Mickey Milkovich has a friend.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello Everyone-</p><p>This was a long chapter, but I hope you enjoyed it. </p><p>I know that there are probably a ton of questions still, and you are welcome to ask, but I don't know that I will give you a straight answer. Lol. </p><p>A few things...</p><p>I love cars, but I'm not a mechanic, so some things may not be consistent. However, I have a pretty good knowledge base. And if anyone is interested in the history of the Chevy Camaro, the first midsize American cars to get eight cylinder engines, or more specifically the history of the 1970 Chevy Chevelle, I'd be more than happy to talk your ear off about them.</p><p>I want to continue to state that while this Mickey's experience of anxiety and treatment may be similar to some people's experience, it is not meant as a primer for Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, or other forms of anxiety. His experience of institutionalization and re-entering society, as well as his use of and response to therapy are also not meant to preclude anyone else's experience.</p><p>With all that said, I want to offer a few mental health resources and will probably post more in later chapters. Please see below.</p><p>Thank you all for reading along.</p><p>Be well!</p><p>💖, Chat Noir</p><p>Resources:</p><p>•	Anxiety and Depression Association of America (ADAA): (240) 485-1001; press 7 / www.adaa.org  Info and referral on anxiety &amp; depression; online and in person support groups. Offers Spanish-language online support group as well as resources on its website.<br/>•	Crisis Text Line: Text NAMI to 741741 / www.crisistextline.org  24/7 text support with a trained crisis counselor. (Also offered in UK, Canada, Ireland, South Africa.)<br/>•	HOPE Line-Spanish Speaking Crisis Hotline: (800) 784-2432<br/>•	National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-7233 You can also live chat online and get other information at https://www.thehotline.org/. You can also text LOVEIS to 866-331-9474</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The following Monday morning, Mickey's alarm wakes him from a fitful sleep, saves him from the darkness that has now taken hold of him every night. He is exhausted, feeling like he's constantly battling for survival during the time his body should be relaxing, healing. It's been a fucking shitshow in general, and he knows he can't keep going on like this. His hair is soaking wet with sweat and there is a lump that has become a familiar passenger in his throat. Mickey's whole body is tense and sore and he feels ice in his chest.</p><p>He sighs deeply and thinks about the day before. Mickey thinks that maybe, just maybe he has unlocked something that is gonna help him. Something that might make things a little more bearable 'cos this shit right here is not gonna fuckin' work.</p><p>On Sunday, he spent the day doing stuff he would have scoffed at six months ago in an attempt to regain some control of his fucked up life as of late. Drawing, taking walks just to walk, attempting meditation—<em>that shit is impossible. </em>And reflecting, which is harder than it sounds. But he also worked on the Chevelle—which felt so good—cleaned his room from top to bottom, and went grocery shopping. And while he did all of these things, he also practiced some shit Maria had taught him when he started feeling that sludge pool in his stomach or dark thoughts creep into his mind. Every time he felt anxious or things got fuzzy, he did the 5-4-3-2-1 method, or his best version of it, enlisting his senses to assist with his anxiety.</p><p>Five things he could see: wrench, tire, blue rag, shoes, roll-up garage door.</p><p>Four things he could touch:  jeans, house keys, hair, cell phone.</p><p>Three things he could hear: beep at the check-out stand, whir of an AC unit, people arguing over the produce.</p><p>Two things he could smell: dumpster in the alley, Irish Spring.</p><p>One thing he could taste: traces of tobacco.</p><p>Mickey had to admit <em>that shit worked pretty good.</em></p><p>At the end of the day he had maybe just a touch more clarity. It was at least enough to know that the week before had been completely fucked, and he didn't want to live that again. In his reflection, he sees that the previous week is kinda a blur. When Mickey looks back on it, he feels like it happened to someone else. He doesn't feel connected to it and he wonders if he had even been present. </p><p>He saw Maria that Wednesday just like he was supposed to, but they both knew he was holding something back, that he wasn't being truthful. Mickey talked about waking up that previous Monday morning and feeling really good and stopping his negative self talk, but he didn't tell her about Ian and Willie, and he made it sound like his symptoms had come from nowhere. Maria didn't call bullshit, she just kept probing him for details of his day and asking about the nightmare that night, but he knew that meant in her head she was <em>absolutely</em> calling bullshit. </p><p>They ended their session by going over his early warning signs and grounding techniques, but they both left unsatisfied. She made him promise that next time he passed out he would go to the emergency room, also stating she knew he wouldn't go to the doctor now, so she wasn't even gonna ask. And she was right.</p><p>Even though his therapist didn't say it, and her tone remained even, he knew she didn't think they had actually accomplished anything that day. He wondered if she thought he'd wasted her time. Mickey felt like he had and he felt guilty—not just because of that, but also because he lied to her. And why? What was the point? What was the point of even coming in? He guessed he just wanted to make sure that his dramatic panic attack wasn't out of the range of normal. However, he left without that reassurance.</p><p>That visit was the last moment he remembers feeling present. </p><p>The rest of the week gets recalled in fragments and flashes. Tightening bolts and replacing fan belts, Rita-Mae yelling at Damon and quietly asking Mickey if he's alright, pink lips whispering near white tufts of hair and red hair catching the sun. It's tight-lipped and strained conversation and undeniable tension that sends Mickey into the bathroom or up the stairs more than once to splash water on his face and get his breathing back to normal.</p><p>The week is recalled and measured in how much interaction he had to have with Ian fucking Gallagher, Gay Jesus, Auto Technician and Parolee. Mickey managed to avoid Willie, but Ian could not be avoided. Luckily, Ian realized his friendliness and attempts at conversation were only making things worse so he settled into a cold and distant form of communication that bordered on hostile at times. Mickey told himself he preferred it, but deep down he had to admit it also made him feel sad. No, something deeper than sad. Something harder hitting that he doesn't have the vocabulary for. What's the right word? He had heard Audre use the word "downhearted" before and thinks that it sounds like how he feels right now. <em>Fucking downhearted. What the fuck?</em></p><p>And the week is recalled in nightmares—some more vivid than others. Broken arms, shattering glass, vision obscured by streams of blood. Busted lips and venomous threats, blood curdling screams, distorted faces. A dead junkie down the street. A glittery twink passed out on the ground. Knuckles knocking out his brother's tooth. Mandy sobbing on the bathroom floor. His father crushing his windpipe. And Mickey pressing up against the boy with the ginger locks.</p><p>Ian.</p><p>He had invaded Mickey's dreams, his nightmares. Flashes of red hair and pale skin plagued him. And they were mixed together with all the other images that came to him in the night, as well as the broken and disconnected memories from the daytime, creating a chaotic and surreal recollection of his life over the past seven days.</p><p><em>This isn't gonna fuckin' work.</em>  Mickey knows that it might be time for a real session with his shrink, one where he at least tells her about Ian and Willie. Even if it doesn't help, he thinks it can't make things worse. Probably. Hopefully.</p><p>He <em>knows</em> he has to do something different, but he isn't sure what. Maria had already scheduled to see him Monday evening, but he still has to get through his shift and he doesn't want to do it the way he's been getting through the day. <em>That shit wasn't working.</em> </p><p><em>Something different.</em> </p><p>He thinks that most likely that "something different" involves Gallagher, <em>but fucking hell — what?</em> He doesn't want to be friendly with the guy. He isn't trying to be Ian's friend. Mickey thinks he might need to loosen the fuck up. But he's not quite sure how. </p><p>
  <em>Sounds fucked.</em>
</p><p>Despite short-circuiting all week, he had managed to make a lot of progress on the Chevelle. Or maybe it was <em>because</em> he had been short-circuiting that he made so much progress—she certainly had become his biggest coping mechanism. But now they were stuck because of a missing part for the engine, and he couldn't move forward until they had it. </p><p>Audre found it online at some pick 'n' pull in South Bend, but they wouldn't ship it, so they had to take a road trip to go get it. Audre talked Mickey into the idea of taking the Dodge Charger that Mickey had "loved just right" and hitting the road together. </p><p>Audre had gotten clearance from Willie and Mickey had gotten the approval from Larry, who was enthusiastic about Mickey "taking a field trip for work", and so was willing to make an exception to let him go out of state. </p><p>The conversation had been whispered from Larry's end even though there was no one who could have heard him in his office. Larry had leaned in close, too close, giving Mickey a front row seat to Larry's greatly receding hairline, and did his cloak and dagger routine with exaggerated secrecy. </p><p>"Listen, Mickey." Larry lifted his head and looked around, through the window of his office for an invisible eavesdropper. "I talked to Willie. And I think this is gonna be great for you. Now we're gonna have to just keep this between us, 'cos you know…" Larry wiggled his eyebrows awkwardly at Mickey and motioned with his stubby index finger between them. </p><p>Mickey grimaced and nodded his head slowly. "Uh, oh, okay?"</p><p>"Yeah, we're just, you know… " Larry leaned in even closer and whispered, "bending the rules a little." But all of Larry's weird behavior led Mickey to the conclusion that this wasn't bending anything, it was breaking it, and Larry was willing to do that because he believed it was in Mickey's best interest. </p><p><em>Operating from the gray.</em> </p><p>
  <em>Maybe Larry was ok. Maybe. Not certain. He's fuckin' weird.</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>So, on Thursday he was taking a day trip to South Bend in a hot fucking 70s muscle car with his friend. He is excited and can't wait to have a day away from the garage, out of Chicago… fuck, just out of his life. Even if it is Indiana, it's gonna be a welcome escape.</p><p>But until then he can't work on the Chevelle, which means he doesn't have his biggest outlet. It makes him more anxious for the day and he knows he has to get a grip. <em>Get it the fuck together. </em>His mantra.</p><p>Mickey swings out of bed. He struggles at first to get ready and he feels something welling in his chest, like he wants to cry. He's feeling less like himself in some ways, but more like himself in others. And he thinks this can't continue to be the way he starts his day. </p><p>He does his morning routine and practices shrink tricks while he does—<em>feels</em> the water on his skin, <em>smells</em> the coffee as it brews, <em>hears</em> the sounds of the garbage men… <em>stay grounded, stay present. </em>He probably should have been doing this last week, but he was… somewhere else in his mind. <em>Jesus Christ.</em></p><p>He doesn't come down until he sees Rita-Mae roll up the door. She looks surprised, so used to being greeted by his backside every morning as he is hunched over a car. She looks at him, eyebrow raised, lips almost in a smile, but it's actually more of a quirk, and he understands what her expression means.</p><p>"Work starts at seven, Boss." Mickey strolls towards her and actually smiles—a small smile, but a smile nonetheless, and the first one in days.</p><p>"Hmm." Her small noise is almost teasing, and her sideways grimace actually turns up into the faintest of smiles as well.</p><p>Mickey stops in his tracks and looks at her. Her face in a near happy expression makes her look almost like a different person, and it reminds him that Audre had been asking about her at the bar the other night after they finished their Lorenzo De Luca bashing session. Mickey thinks for the first time that maybe Audre and Rita-Mae might be good together.</p><p>Mickey nods his head and throws his arm back toward the Chevelle. "I can't do anything with her until Audre and I get that part from South Bend. So my, uh, motivation for working at five thirty in the morning is kinda… " He blows a raspberry and puts his hand out flat, palm down.</p><p>"Yeah, alright." Rita-Mae nods and heads toward the office, unlocking it. "We don't have a lot going on today. Not yet anyway."</p><p>Mickey is following her to the office when she turns around and looks him in the eye, head tilted, biting her bottom lip. </p><p>"You look fucking exhausted," she finally says. </p><p>"Geez, thanks, Boss. So full of compliments early in the morning." Mickey runs his thumb over his nose and breathes out, avoiding eye contact.</p><p>"Look, whatever is going on with you, if you need to take some time off, then maybe you should take a few days."</p><p>"I'm fine—"</p><p>"Pleeease. Don't even try that shit with me."</p><p>For a minute he thinks she's gonna bring up having to carry his pale, passed out ass up a flight of stairs, but she doesn't.</p><p>"I'm not your mama, but I'm gonna tell you anyway, you look like shit. I can tell you haven't been sleeping, and I'm worried about you. I don't like being worried. It's not in the range of emotions I'm comfortable with. So, I'm willing to help you, to get you out of… " Rita-Mae waves her hand, palm out, in a circular motion in front him. "...Whatever <em>this</em> is. I've had enough," she tells him simply.</p><p>Mickey doesn't know what to say at first. He swallows thickly around the lump in his throat and feels his mouth go dry. </p><p>
  <em>Smell of motor oil.</em>
</p><p>"I—I'm trying." He looks at her with intense blue eyes, realizing he has to tell her something. "I'm seeing my shrink again today and I did—am doing—a bunch of the stuff she taught me to do…" He trails off, not sure why he's telling her this and if it's even enough of what she wants to hear. </p><p>"I believe you're tryin'," she says and looks at him, her light brown eyes looking at him softer than before. "But you have to tell me if you need help. You have to be able to ask for what you need. Okay?" She looks down with a kind expression and it stops his breathing.</p><p>"O—okay," Mickey stutters and feels his palms sweating. <em>Sound of squealing brakes.</em> He says ok, but he doesn't know what she means. Doesn't know what he's supposed to ask for. But he nods his head.</p><p>"Sounds like we got a brake job that just rolled in." Rita-Mae's expression shifts instantly as she picks up her clipboard, and Mickey is relieved to see her stoic and slightly scary demeanor return. He lets out a long ragged breath. </p><p>"Go clock in," she tells him, not looking up from her clipboard. </p><p>"Yes, Boss." Mickey turns on his heel and heads back toward the time clock next to the lockers. He is tingling from head to toe and all he keeps saying over and over in his head is: <em>What do I need? What do</em> I need? What do I <strong>need</strong>? Fuck if he knows. <em>Texture of the card. Clunk of the timeclock. Cold gray steel.</em></p><p>***</p><p>The day stays slow and Enzo and Damon volunteer to go home. Mickey stays busy—a fan belt here, a spark plug there—but the day creeps by. </p><p>Mickey doesn't have to work with Ian—nothing is so big it needs two sets of hands—but Ian is all over the shop, cleaning, counting, organizing. And flirting. </p><p>
  <em>Cold slick steel.</em>
</p><p>Willie comes out of the office more than usual on this Monday. Every time standing too close, whispering too low, laughing too loud. </p><p><em>Sweet smell of gasoline.</em> </p><p>Finally, it's nearing the end of the day, and Mickey is feeling proud of himself. He has staved off any full-blown panic attacks and stayed in his body, stayed present. And soon, he could get the fuck out of here.</p><p>Mickey is cleaning up his area, feeling lighter, like he might actually be okay. Feeling like maybe he can do this after all.</p><p>"Hey." Mickey hears a soft voice from behind him and he knows who it is without looking.</p><p>Mickey freezes, biting his bottom lip. He has to decide. This is the moment where "something different" comes into play. Mickey turns around and lets out a puff of air, and comes face to face with the tall redhead.</p><p>"Hey,' Mickey says, nodding his head and wiping his hands. "You did a good job today."</p><p>"Uh..." Ian looks dumbfounded and is having a momentary loss of words, obviously not expecting the somewhat friendly greeting.</p><p>"It's hard to stay busy sometimes when it's slow," Mickey says quietly. "You found stuff to do without anyone telling you. And it looks good." Mickey nods, a sober expression on his face. </p><p>"Th—thanks," Ian says, cautiously smiling and nodding his head as well. "Um, I was thinking that maybe we should talk."</p><p>"About what?" Mickey says abruptly, raising his voice an octave.</p><p>Ian lets out an exasperated sigh. "Mickey, you know about what."</p><p>Mickey starts to shake his head. "No, I don't know what you're talking about."</p><p>"You can't keep pretending like you don't know me." Ian's lips are in a thin line and his eyes are perforating Mickey, poking him, prodding him.</p><p>"No." Mickey shakes his head. "I don't know what you're talking about." He sounds like a broken record.</p><p>"Give me a fucking break." Ian raises his voice and clenches his jaw.</p><p>"Ian!" Both men have their focus pulled away from each other by Willie demanding Ian's attention. "Come here." He smiles and motions for Ian to join him in the office. "I wanna show you somethin'."</p><p>"Hmf." Mickey gives Ian a sarcastic smile, full of venom. "Guess you better get over to your sugar daddy. He's got something to show you, Gallagher."</p><p>Ian turns and looks at Mickey, green eyes locking onto icy blue ones, chin set and nostrils flared. "Fuck you, Mickey," is all Ian says as he turns and walks away. </p><p>Mickey is stuck in the spot where Ian leaves him, boots like cement and head pounding. He feels his mouth going dry and his eyes are stinging. He watches Ian walk toward Willie. <em>Long fucking legs. Strong, broad back.</em> </p><p>Willie puts his arm around Ian's shoulder, but his hand starts to slide down. <em>Texture of my jumpsuit.</em> Willie places his palm on the small of Ian's back and guides him into the office. The touch is intimate and intentional. <em>Dog barking from the sidewalk. </em>Just then, Ian turns and locks eyes with Mickey. Green eyes. Pools of absinthe. Telling Mickey more than just <em>fuck you. </em>Full of sorrow and hurt and anger. Green eyes in distress, disappearing behind a closed door. </p><p>
  <em>The taste of blood.</em>
</p><p>The sting of Mickey biting into his own lip and drawing blood doesn't hit him right away. He is still stuck replaying the last five minutes over and over again. From the moment he heard a soft "hey" to the office door closing behind Ian. Ian's eyes, his shoulders, the small of his back. Willie's hand. Ian's sadness. And his own anger. Over and over and over.</p><p>"Mickey!" Rita-Mae gives a furious whisper as she heads towards him, grabbing him by his shoulders and looking in his face. "Snap the fuck out of it." She shakes him lightly. When he doesn't move, she spins him around and lightly pushes him, guiding him by his shoulders. Marching him up the stairs, she finds she has to push him harder, his body is going heavy. He feels her hands pressing sharply on his back and he thinks he likes the pain.</p><p>Mickey feels his bed underneath him and a cold cloth on his face. It feels so good, but he's getting faint. Feeling tired. His head is heavy and he just wants to lay down. All of a sudden he feels a light sting across his cheek. And then another, only this one is harder and he realizes that Rita-Mae has slapped him.</p><p>"Snap out of it, Mickey!" She yells at him, snapping her fingers as he slowly starts to come around.</p><p>"What the fuck?" He is so very confused as her imploring eyes come into focus. </p><p>"Mickey," is all she says, her hands on his shoulders.</p><p>"Fuck, Rita." Mickey lets out a breath that is stuttering and sounds like he might cry.</p><p>Rita-Mae crouches down in front of him. Those brown eyes that he realizes might actually be hazel, with flecks of green swimming in them, searching his face, pleading for an answer. They look at each other for what feels like an hour, but it's probably only a minute.</p><p>"Can you tell me what you need? Can you do that now?" She asks, her voice laced with kindness.</p><p>"Can—" He looks down at his hands that are twisted in the fabric of his jumpsuit, then looks back in her eyes. "Can you give me a ride to my therapist?"</p><p>"Yeah." She nods. "For sure. What time's the appointment?"</p><p>"Uh, five thirty. It's kinda near Millennium Park." He rubs his palm into his eyes.</p><p>"Ok. Stay up here. Get cleaned up, eat, relax for a bit. I'm gonna tell Willie he needs to close up. I'll text you to come down. Okay? Just come out the back." She stands up and looks down at him for affirmation.</p><p>"Yeah," Mickey says in a whisper and nods his head. "Okay."</p><p>After Rita-Mae leaves, Mickey can't stop thinking about the way she was looking at him and that person that doesn't look like her or act like her has now emerged twice today. Was he so fucked up that he's evoking a completely different Rita-Mae? So fucked he has his tough-as-nails, no-nonsense, sometimes scary boss turning on some maternal instinct that she probably doesn't like? <em>Fuuuck</em>. </p><p>He doesn't know how to feel and doesn't understand someone being worried about him. Has anyone ever been worried about him? He thinks maybe his little sister, before she ran off, never to be heard from again, maybe did once or twice, but nothing like this. This is foreign and fucked and he kinda hates himself for it.</p><p>He feels something wet on his face, reaching up to touch his cheek, he realizes it's tears. He doesn't know when he started crying. He hopes it was after Rita-Mae left, but he has a feeling it wasn't. </p><p>Right then he makes a decision that he has never made before. He decides that he's gonna let himself cry. Not sob. Not weep. Just cry. He doesn't try to stop the tears like he always has since the day his father slapped him hard across the face and told him only pussies cry. </p><p>Mickey doesn't know how old he was, but he knows it was before his mama left because she scooped him up after, earning her a rough slap as well. Mickey remembers afterward he had touched the wet tears on her face as she cradled him in her arms, and he told her: "It kay. I not gonna cry." </p><p>In this moment he decides to reverse the decision made by a toddler version of himself and let the tears come out.</p><p>Afraid of opening the floodgates, he doesn't think about it or put any effort behind it. He just lets the tears flow out silently, not sure how to fix this. Not sure how to fix <em>him</em>. Mickey knows he has to at least try, and maybe let people help him, no matter how weird and scary that is.</p><p>***</p><p>The car ride to Mickey's therapy appointment is quiet, which probably should be awkward, but it isn't. Neither Mickey nor Rita-Mae are talkers. Not really. Neither dealt in small talk or liked to say more to other people than what was necessary to get the point across. Audre and maybe Ana, and the occasional barb or sarcastic comment for the purpose of taking someone down a few notches, being the exceptions.</p><p>Rita-Mae had said all she needed to in order to make Mickey understand she was concerned about him and here to support him. Mickey had understood and accepted this, proven by his request for a ride. What else needed to be said? They both got it.</p><p>When they arrived at the building where his therapist had her office, they sat quietly for a few beats, words getting stuck in Mickey's throat, as they were prone to do as of late. </p><p>He finally turns and looks at Rita-Mae, who meets his gaze. He is grateful for the lack of intensity, and she no longer is looking at him with concern, but there is still a softness that changes her face. Later, he guesses that's why he says the next thing that comes out of his mouth. "Audre's askin' 'bout you, boss."</p><p>Her breath hitches, and she sits back in her seat, and it makes her look ten years younger, innocent and surprised.</p><p>"She is?" Rita-Mae's eyes widen, and Mickey feels that he can definitely confirm they are hazel as they are wide open and catching the light from the setting sun.</p><p>"Yeah." He laughs gently and nods his head. "She likes you, boss."</p><p>She looks down and smiles gently to herself.</p><p>"Don't tell her I told you." He points at the woman next to him and she looks up at him, lips still turned up, but looking shy. "She'll fuckin' kill me."</p><p>"I—I won't," Rita-Mae stutters and he is amazed by how different she is in this moment. She is even a different person than the one who has gotten him through two panic attacks and drove him across town. <em>Are people really that complex?</em> </p><p>"Um…" She looks like she wants to say something else, but she's holding back.</p><p>"Don't mention it, and I'm not gonna bring it up again; it's your business." He smiles at her and she nods. "And—And thank you."</p><p>His boss smiles yet again, a kind smile meant just for him. <em>This is some kinda record. </em></p><p>"You good to get home on your own?" she asks.</p><p>"Yeah, I'm good." Mickey gets out of the car and shuts the door with one last wave.</p><p><em>Well, that was fuckin' weird. </em>He says to himself, but he's smirking. He smirks right up until he opens the door to the office building, which is where he feels his face drop and the reality of where he is and what he needs to do sets in.</p><p>Mickey takes the elevator up and wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans. He lets out a long breath through puckered lips. <em>What am I gonna tell her? How do I tell her all this?</em> He honestly isn't even sure what <em>all this</em> is, but he knows he has to find some level of truth with her or all of it is for shit.</p><p>Mickey sees the door with name plates of all of the shrinks, therapists, counselors—whatever you want to call them—who work out of that office. And there she is—Maria Russo, LMFT. <em>Here we fuckin’ go.</em></p><p>Mickey checks in and sits down on the faux leather couch that groans a little as he shifts on it. He looks around the room, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone. He takes in the clock, the buttercup colored walls, the weird plant in the corner that looks like a tiny tree that he’s pretty sure is fake. Tries to take in everything, but the faces of the other people—the other wounded—that are here to see their shrink, get therapized, get help…</p><p>"Mickey." Maria is at the door, and she motions for him to come back to where her office is. </p><p>
  <em>Here it is. The moment of truth. Fuck. Mickey Milkovich in therapy. Anyfuckingbody from the Southside in therapy. This is ridiculous, right? Like forget that this shit has helped. This is ridiculous. Fucking hell. What am I doing here? </em>
</p><p>Mickey wants to run away, to turn around and hightail it out of the office, the building, this part of Chicago. But he doesn’t. Instead, he says one last “fuck” only audible to himself and he gets up off the groaning couch and joins Maria behind the door. </p><p>In her office space, that is tranquil and calm, decorated with soft shades of green and what he is pretty sure are real plants, she does what she always does and offers him chamomile tea. And he does what he always does and says “no thanks”, then they both settle into the spots, their spaces, the places in the office they both feel safe and secure. It’s true for Mickey and he assumes that about her as well. He wonders if she sits other places in her office when she sees other people, and all of a sudden he gets a weird feeling that he thinks is jealousy when he thinks about her having other clients. Which he acknowledges in his head is fucking ridiculous, but he feels it nonetheless. <em>Fuck, I’m a jealous dude,</em> he thinks and shakes his head.</p><p>“What are you shaking your head at?” Maria asks him. </p><p><em>Fuck, why are all these bitches so fucking observant? It’s so annoying,</em> he grouses in his head. <em>Maybe I shouldn’t call them bitches. Audre’d punch me in the face and I don’t even want to think of what Rita-Mae’d do to me.</em></p><p>“Uh—” He can’t think of anything to say other than the truth and he really doesn’t want to say that. “I don’t want to talk about it.” <em>What a pussy.</em></p><p>“Okay.” Maria nods her head and holds that expression she so expertly maintains. It isn’t a smile, but it’s not a scowl. It’s calm and it makes her face look soft, but shows no sign of concern or worry. At the same time, he never feels like she doesn’t care. He can’t explain it or figure it out, but it’s weird and he’s pretty sure normal people don’t look at each other like that. <em>Shrinks aren’t normal people.</em> Mickey decides this and thinks about how he is going to tell Audre that and see how she reacts.</p><p>“So, are you ready to talk to me about your anxiety attack?” Maria is blunt and he is kinda shocked, thinking she would ease into the session like she normally does. “How was your day today?” “How is business at the shop?” “Are you still working on the Chevelle?” Not this shit, jumping right into what he doesn’t really want to fucking talk about.</p><p>“Shit,” Mickey says, letting out a nervous laugh and running his sweaty palms down his denim covered thighs one more time. “Just gonna dive right in, huh? Just—'" he makes stabbing motion downward with his hand, biting his already bruised bottom lip harder than he means to.</p><p>“Mickey.” Maria sits down her notepad and pen and leans back, looking at him intently. “You and I both know you weren’t completely honest with me last time you were here. You were holding back. And I’m going to take a wild guess that things didn’t go so well this last week because of whatever it was that you were holding back from session.”</p><p>“I wasn’t trying to hold back from you.” Mickey feels defensive and wants to tell her she’s wrong even though he knows she isn’t.</p><p>“I didn’t say holding back from me. I said 'holding back from session’.” Maria tilts her head and continues to study his face. “This isn’t about me. My feelings aren’t hurt, it doesn’t affect my well-being, it isn’t going to make me better or worse. I don’t take any of this personally. It’s about you. This is your time and you get out of it what you put into it. And last week you didn’t put nearly enough of yourself into it to get the results you probably needed.”</p><p>Mickey looks at her, eyes wide, like he’s seen a ghost.</p><p>“I’m guessing that you still need?” Maria says this like she is making a statement, but also asking a question at the same time. She is inquiring, but she already knows the answer.</p><p>Mickey is quiet and there is a stillness in the room that makes the air thick. The quiet is beyond that of just silence, it hangs there and he wonders how there is no sound at all. No street noise, no patients in another office, no humming of appliances. Just silence that makes his head feel so loud. </p><p>Mickey looks at his therapist, who maintains her calm and straight posture, and Mickey thinks she looks perfect and doesn’t understand how anyone can look that put together. Her dark brown hair is long and hangs over her shoulders like it was placed there, camera ready. She always has makeup on, but it's light and almost looks like she doesn’t. He has no clue how old she is. She could be twenty-nine. She could be forty-nine. It’s honestly so odd and he thinks it’s ‘cos she doesn’t have any lines around her eyes—definitely not from the ghetto. </p><p>His therapist doesn’t dress casually, but she doesn’t seem stiff and Mickey always likes how colorful her clothes are. <em>How fucking queer is that? I'm thinkin’ about her outfits like some pansy and she’s trying to get to business. Maybe that’s why I’m doing it. ‘Cos she's all business right now. Fuckin’ A.</em></p><p>“Yeah,” Mickey says just above a whisper. “Yeah, things didn’t go well.”</p><p>“Tell me about that.” There it is—the therapist speak he’s so used to, but it doesn’t matter now. There is no comfort in the familiar words because he already feels stripped down, bare and vulnerable.</p><p>“All last week was a fucking shitshow. And then it happened again today,” he tells her.</p><p>“What happened again today, Mickey?” </p><p>
  <em>Fuck, she is really drawing it all out. </em>
</p><p>“I had another anxiety attack.” He can’t look her in the eye; he feels guilty even though he knows she already said she didn’t take his omission and light deception personally. But maybe it’s more that he feels stupid because he didn’t do what he needed to do and she called him on it. Regardless, he is finding it hard to get the words out. </p><p>Mickey starts again. “It wasn’t as bad as the last one. I didn’t hyperventilate, or pass out or anything, but I kinda froze?” He looks up to see if she understands what he is saying and sees a subtle nod, so he continues. “I couldn’t move and I just kept replaying shit in my head. And the next thing I know I'm in my room with my boss and I've got a cold rag on my face and my boss is slappin’ me to wake me up.”</p><p>“Willie?”</p><p>“Hmf!” Mickey shakes his head and digs his top teeth into his bottom lip again aggravating his wounds. “Fuck no. Rita.”</p><p>“That’s twice now, she’s been there for you,” Maria points out.</p><p>“Yeah,” Mickey says, nodding his head. “She like, wants to help me and shit.”</p><p>“Does that bother you?” Maria asks.</p><p>“I don’t know.” He shrugs his shoulders and furrows his brow. “Maybe. It definitely did.”</p><p>“But something has changed.”</p><p>“Yeah.” Mickey is quiet, trying to figure out what has changed. Maria’s right, but he doesn’t know why she’s right. “I don’t know. I guess, I need—I guess…” Mickey trails off unable to say the words that are obvious.</p><p>Maria, who is not in the habit of helping Mickey complete a thought, deviates once again and says: “You need people to help you. You need other people.”</p><p>“Fuck.” Mickey sits back. </p><p>“You know when I woke up last Monday, shit was so good?” Mickey is staring above Maria’s head and his eyes are glassing over. “I woke up and felt warm. I felt safe. I could breathe.” He shakes his head and feels the lump in his throat. His friend, coming to join the pity-party. “I felt like, happy and just… I don’t know… satisfied. Like things were good like they were. I didn’t need anything.”</p><p>“Have you ever felt like that before?” Maria, who has still abandoned her pad and pen, laces her fingers and looks at him, her eyes warm, but expectant.</p><p>“You know, at first I didn’t think I had.” Mickey rubs his bottom lip with his index finger. “But I do remember feelin' like that. That’s what the memory mostly is—it’s just a feeling. I don’t know how old I was, but I was small. Like really small. I don’t remember anyone talkin' or maybe I didn't understand them, but I think it was quiet, and I remember fallin' asleep in my Ma’s arms. I felt warm next to her body. Almost like—I don’t know—I was melting into it. It was this feeling… ” Mickey is struggling. <em>Why is it always so fuckin’ hard to describe feelings. Fuck! </em></p><p>Maria is kind and gives him an amiable smile and nods. “Go on.”</p><p>“I was comfortable. I was safe.” He sighs a ragged breath. “I just knew—while she held me like that—I knew I was good. Fuck. Does that make any sense?”</p><p>“Of course it does, Mickey,” Maria reassures him. “What you felt was contentment. Your mother made you feel safe and satisfied. You felt calm inside. You were soothed. Comforted. Happy. Content.”</p><p>“Yeah.” He breathes out and dips his head. “Yeah, content. I felt content and that’s how I felt the other morning when I woke up. Maybe not warm and taken care of, but all the other stuff. It was the only other time I felt that way besides some weird memory with a ghost.” Mickey looks up and grinds his palms in his eyes. “And it all went to shit.”</p><p>“So.” Maria looks at him pointedly, not backing down. “Is this the part where you tell me what really happened and what triggered your anxiety attack? Because it sounds like whatever it was is still there.”</p><p>“Fuck, yeah, alright.” He is exasperated, but he knows this is something he has to do. This is the part that he doesn’t want to do. But this is the part that he has to do. <em>Fuckin’ therapy sucks.</em></p><p>Mickey gives in and lets it all go—well most of it. He tells Maria about Willie being on the downlow, and how he's known about it, but it was never real until last week when a new redheaded parolee started. Mickey tells her about the flirting and how he’s struggled to ignore what was happening. As he is recounting the previous week and a day he starts having trouble containing himself and he's getting louder and speaking faster with every passing second.</p><p>“They just flaunt their fagginess all over the fuckin' shop. And what? We’re all supposed to ignore that? Act like it isn’t happening? And what about his wife?”</p><p>Mickey is getting heated and can’t stop now the floodgates are open. It all comes out in a stream of consciousness, the words spilling out like a waterfall. </p><p>“And he’s fucking like forty years younger than Willie. What the fuck? Like he got himself a new sugar daddy. Hasn’t even been out of prison a week and found some old man to buy him shit, give him fucking attention. And Willie. Whathafuck? He needs some young hot redhead whore to fuck around with? Someone who works for him. He can’t do like the rest of us and just go down to Boystown or use Grindr? It’s fuckin' bullshit. It’s embarrassing. Why can’t he just—”</p><p>“Be in the closet?” Maria interrupts at that moment.</p><p>Mickey’s eyes get huge. He sits back in his seat like he's been kicked in the chest and realizes he isn’t breathing. Shaking his head, he lets the air out of his lungs, and in the moment he knows that he is angry and he says, “So, what you think it’s okay for him to be fuckin’ around with that ginger fuck at the shop?” His voice raises, eyebrows knitted and he’s starting to take in quick breaths.</p><p>“No, Mickey.” Maria is calm and unflinching even in the face of his anger. “I am not saying what he is doing is right. What I am saying is that it seems what you are really angry about is Willie expressing his sexuality in public. You want him to do what ‘the rest of us do’. Who are the rest of us, Mickey? Because it isn’t all gay men that only express their sexuality through hookups in Boystown and one night stands on Grindr. So, that begs the question of who is the ‘us’ you expect him to act like?”</p><p>“Fuck.” Mickey sits back again, his posture more relaxed, but his voice is still raised. “I don’t know. If you’re trying to say I’m in the closet, I’m not in the fuckin' closet.”</p><p>“Who in your life knows your sexuality, Mickey?” She is challenging him, something she’s never done before. It’s disarming because it is direct and unrelenting, but she is still soft and her voice is still lilting and calm. <em>It’s fucking disorienting.</em></p><p>“My brother, Iggy. My sister.” His hackles are raised and he hates what is happening.</p><p>“They aren’t in your life, Mickey.” She shakes her head slightly. “You haven’t seen either of them in years. Does anyone that is in your life now know that you are gay?”</p><p>“I’m not—” He starts to protest but he sees that she’s expecting this, and he quickly realizes that what he was about to say was ridiculous so he shuts his mouth and rubs his hand across his forehead, letting out a sound like the air coming out of a tire. “I don’t want to talk about my sexuality.”</p><p>“Why not?” She continues to challenge him.</p><p>“What?” She’s never said that to him either. Never asked why he didn’t want to talk about something. Usually she accepts it and moves on, but today she is pushing him like never before. </p><p>“Why don’t you want to talk about being gay? It seems like your sexuality and Willie’s sexuality is directly related to your anxiety attack last week and the episode today. The only other factor in all of this is the new guy. What was his name?” </p><p>“Ian.” Mickey looks away and his eyes get dark and his face drops. </p><p>Maria’s eyes narrow in like she wants to say something else—something about Ian—but she holds back. She looks like she’s filing something away in her brain, inside a folder with Mickey's fucking face on it, and she moves on.</p><p>“Well, it seems to me that you were triggered by this encounter, and probably the one today, too. With the information I have, it sounds like it definitely has something to do with Willie or you or both of you being gay. And since you have a lot of trauma related to your father I’m going to venture to guess your sexuality was stifled by him, and now you have a father figure that is being somewhat open about his sexuality that mirrors your own. That has to be difficult.”</p><p>“Not everything is about my fucking father,” Mickey protests.</p><p>“No. Maybe not, but you were traumatized by him in every other way. He had complete control over you. And you were afraid of him.” </p><p>He looks up at the words that have come out of her mouth. That he was afraid. Afraid. The idea of fear hangs in the air all around him and drains the blood from his face. He is pale and feels his fingers tingle. </p><p>“I’m not going to force you to talk about Terry, Mickey, but all of your panic attacks and anxiety have either been related to the pressure of you living a free and successful life outside of prison—adapting to being a functional adult in the world. Or they’ve been about your father.” She looks at him, but this time her smile and her eyes look sad for just a second, and Mickey is confused by an actual sign of emotion from her, however fleeting it might be. </p><p>“I don’t want you to talk about details, Mickey. There are often negative outcomes talking about trauma in detail. But, a majority of the time it is about him. Your father telling you you’re a piece of shit or your father beating you or your father forcing you to do some violent act that you didn’t want to do. But what you have never told me is about being gay in relation to your father. And I highly doubt you escaped some trauma around that as a result of either just the fear of your father or. . .” </p><p>“Or what?” Mickey is looking down, his eyes pooling with tears, but he refuses to cry. He has managed to keep himself from crying up to this point in front of Maria and he plans to keep up that trend. </p><p>“Or he found out you were gay and he reacted violently to it.” </p><p>Mickey is quiet. “I—” He can’t talk, and he lets out an uneven breath. </p><p>“Listen.” Maria leans in. “I know that being gay is not something you want to focus on in here, but, Mickey, what happened the other day—what might keep happening—is related to your sexuality, so we have to work that out. Because Willie isn’t going anywhere, you aren’t going anywhere, and neither is the past.” </p><p>Mickey lets her words sink in. He knows it’s all true. He knows it’s about being gay. He knows it’s at least a little bit about his father, but fuck if that doesn’t piss him off. He knows there are other things, too. Like there's some part of it that <em>is</em> about Ana, and that weird feeling like his father is cheating on his mother. And that hurts his heart. </p><p>But it's also about things he isn’t ready to face or talk about. He feels pathetic and thinks that it’s some kinda bullshit to be twenty-five years old and still afraid to say out loud that he’s gay because he’s <em>still </em>afraid of his dead fucking father. Afraid of Terry. <em>Fuck</em>.</p><p>“Yeah.” Mickey nods his head and finally meets Maria’s gaze. “I don’t like that he’s just bein’ a fag in front of everyone. Fuck—” He shakes his head, trying to shake Terry out of his thoughts, out of his speech. “I don’t like that he’s bein’ open about bein’ with another guy. And it bothers me that it’s with I—Ian,” Mickey stutters and breathes heavy through his nose. “He’s too young for him, and he’s probably using Willie, and that’s fucked up.” He sees Maria’s eyebrow quirk up ever so slightly and wonders what part of what he said has her looking at him like that. “I just don’t know how to avoid it. Avoid them. The way he touches him—” Mickey shakes his head. “I just don’t wanna see it.”</p><p>“The way Ian touches Willie or the way Willie touches Ian?” She sucks in her bottom lip and knits her brow.</p><p>“What?” Mickey’s eyes are round and confused.</p><p>“Who touching who bothers you? Willie, Ian, both?”</p><p>“I don’t know. I guess Willie touching Ian?” Mickey shrugs and looks to the side of Maria’s head, avoiding her eyes.</p><p>“Mickey, do you know Ian?” Maria sits up straighter, pulling that brain file out with his fucking face on it. “I mean, did you know him before he came to work at the shop?”</p><p>Mickey is silent, his mouth refusing to open. Refusing to speak.</p><p>“Look, if you aren’t comfortable—”</p><p>“It’s no big deal, okay?” Mickey is defensive again and leaning forward. “He was friends with my sister a long ass time ago—when we were in high school. Or they were in high school. And he was a fucking dick.” Mickey pauses, debating whether or not to say what he is thinking about saying. “And—and he was a fucking slut and everyone knew he was fucking gay. Always fucking old dudes. He was fucking his boss back then, too! He was just—fuck him.” He sits back, crossing his arms in front of him, a scowl on his face.</p><p>“Sounds like he made it hard for you to avoid being confronted with your own sexuality,” Maria says. “That’s rough. Especially when you’re a teenager in the neighborhood you grew up in.”</p><p>“Yeah.” Mickey clenches his jaw, but he feels himself calming down. “Yeah.”</p><p>“Do you think you could talk to him about all this?” Maria asks, already knowing what Mickey is going to say.</p><p>“Hell, no.” No surprises here.</p><p>“Well, if you aren’t going to talk to him then you are going to need to figure out how to control your anxiety. How you are going to process all this other stuff.”</p><p>Mickey sighs loudly. He knows she’s right and he’s probably handling this wrong, but he can’t talk to Gallagher. He just can’t. <em>Fuck that guy. So then what?</em></p><p>“We have a lot of work to do, Mickey,” Maria says soberly. “I’m going to call Larry Seaver and ask that we temporarily increase your visits to once a week.”</p><p>“What? No—” Mickey puts his hand out in protest. “Don’t. Don’t fuckin’ tell Larry. I don’t want to—”</p><p>Maria doesn’t say anything, but her eyebrows rise up and she purses her lips. She sits still, looking at him with an intensity he has not seen on her before.</p><p>“I mean—”</p><p>“Two serious episodes brought on by anxiety in eight days and it sounds like you were living in a state of constant anxiety in between. So, what do you suggest we do?” She is forceful in her challenging and it leaves him so confused. How is he changing everyone around him? Evoking emotions. New responses. And all directed at him. It doesn't feel powerful. It feels like he's exposed. They all have him figured out and they can no longer hold back, cutting through the bullshit, taking down the shield, and tearing down the concrete, reinforced walls that had been so carefully constructed.</p><p>Mickey nods his head wordlessly and looks down at his lap. He can’t argue, he knows she’s right. This is what he needs. And if this woman, who is always so measured and careful and precise, is aggressively suggesting he increase his therapy then he probably should fucking do that.</p><p>They spend the rest of the session talking about dissociation and anxiety, and going over all of his warning signs. He tells her about using the 5-4-3-2-1 method—pieces of it really, and she seems pleased. They go over it again and she talks to him about his breathing. They talk about his drawings and other coping mechanisms that he has started trying to use. Maria teaches him some more grounding exercises, and they talk about meditation and how Mickey feels like it’s impossible for a person to clear their mind.</p><p>Maria agrees with him, but says, “It is. Especially for a busy mind, but the act of it is to keep bringing your mind back from those dark places and focused again on your breathing. Maybe try using a candle, and focus on the flame while you are doing your deep breathing. Don’t get discouraged, you may not be able to clear your mind for a long period of time, but the exercise itself will help calm you and center you. Keep trying. Okay?”</p><p>“Yeah. Okay. The candle thing might work. But you know I think all of this is fucking nuts, right? It feels so ridiculous”</p><p>She only smiles wryly and looks at him with knowing eyes.</p><p>Mickey grins and turns his head away from her and then swings it back. “I feel better.”</p><p>“Good,” she says simply and nods. “I want you back here next Monday.”</p><p>“After work?”</p><p>“Deal.” Maria stands up, and Mickey does as well, both of them feeling like something had actually been accomplished. “I’ll expect you here at 5:30.”</p><p>“Yeah, alright. Sounds good.” He feels like he wants to shake her hand or something, but also feels like that’s weird and formal and kinda hoaky. Instead, Mickey waves awkwardly and Maria bows her head maybe an inch.</p><p>She walks him out to the lobby and he’s faced once again with buttercup walls and fake little trees, but everyone else is gone and there are only accent lights on. It’s closing time at the shrink rink, and he has to now figure out what to do with himself for the rest of the night. And all of a sudden he feels so lonely that his chest hurts. He just wants to get home, get back to his room. So once again he does something that other people do and calls a fucking Uber on a gifted cell phone, using the debit card that Larry made him—”helped him”—get.</p><p>***</p><p>Mickey’s picked up by Sanj, a young kid with slicked back hair, who is definitely a college student and probably doing this to pay for weed. The driver attempts to make small talk at first, but quickly realizes after a series of grunts from his raven haired passenger that small talk would not be part of the services tonight. </p><p>Mickey is grateful that the kid is able to read the room so quickly and he thinks he’ll make sure to actually give him a decent tip. Not like that last asshole the other night after the Boystown bullshit, who wouldn’t shut up even though he was obviously distressed and flushed. And Mickey is pretty sure that the guy was hitting on him. What the fuck? He would have given him negative stars if that had been an option.</p><p>In the car, Mickey’s phone dings and he sees he has a message from Rita-Mae.</p><p><strong>Boss</strong>: Shop's gonna be slow again tomorrow. I want you to take the day off. Go out and do something. Take a break.</p><p>Mickey is taken aback. He knows logically, it's Rita-Mae trying to be supportive, but there's part of him that feels like she's trying to punish him for being a fucking disaster.</p><p><strong>Mickey</strong>: I don't know that I want to. I'm not sure what to do.</p><p><strong>Boss</strong>: You can start by actually leaving the garage. I bet you were there all weekend. </p><p>Fuck, she had his number. It takes him a while to respond.</p><p><strong>Mickey</strong>: I'll think about it.</p><p>She doesn’t respond to his last text and he figures she'd said her peace and was done with the conversation.</p><p>He can’t imagine what he would do with himself all day tomorrow that doesn’t involve being in his room or in the garage. Sure, he took some walks this weekend and went to the grocery store, but mostly he was in his room. Maybe it wasn’t healthy and maybe Rita-Mae was right, but where the fuck would he go? He was at a loss and too exhausted to think about it. Mickey decides as they pull up in the alley behind the garage, that he’ll eat a sandwich and go to bed. It’s been the longest fucking day of his life; he’s done with Monday and he’s done with trying to figure shit out. He’ll deal with thinking tomorrow.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello Everyone!</p><p>Thanks for reading Chapter 3 and thanks again to @whaticameherefor for her editing skills &amp; Trixie for giving me feedback.</p><p>I want to let everyone know I'm going to be delaying the posting of Chapter 4 by four days. Instead of posting on Wednesday the 16th, I'll be posting on Sunday the 20th. After that I plan to post every Sunday barring anything in life that might come up.</p><p>So! We now know a little more about Mickey and Ian. But I bet you all are still not satisfied. Don't worry; I'm not either! The journey isn't over yet!</p><p>In this chapter, we see Mickey trying really hard to utilize techniques he's learned in therapy and trying as best he can to hold it together. While some of these techniques like meditation and grounding using your senses are pretty common in treating anxiety and symptoms of trauma, they are not always applied the same or work the same for everybody. It's always good for people to do research when they are considering different types of treatment and intervention, and, of course, consult with a mental health professional if you are able.</p><p>Thanks again for all of your support and kind words. </p><p>💖,</p><p>Le Chat Noir</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter describes violent acts. There are descriptions of child abuse and implied child sexual abuse.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mickey gets up and makes no decisions. His biggest decision is that he decides not to think. He texts Rita-Mae at six in the morning and tells her he's taking her up on her offer and he won't be working. He closes the blinds on the window facing the garage and then he goes back to sleep, falling into slumber way easier than expected. And he doesn't dream, not that he remembers, but all of a sudden it's eight a.m.</p><p>No plans are made. No thinking gets done. No choices to pick from. </p><p>Mickey does a quick version of his morning routine and gets dressed. He runs his fingers through his hair and opens the blinds facing out into the shop. His breath hitches immediately. Why did he look? Why the fuck would he look? What the hell is wrong with him? Because there, setting up the tools next to a 2000s Chevy Malibu is the redhead, the ginger menace, the catalyst for his panic, Ian Gallagher. </p><p>
  <em> He’s gotten so tall. </em>
</p><p>Mickey marvels at the sight of him. His shoulders are broad and his back ripples with muscles as do his arms. No doubt from time spent working out in prison. The front of his jumpsuit is opened to the third button, revealing a white tank top underneath. Red, curly chest hair peeks out from the wide neck of the tank, and Mickey can't help but be awed at the Gallagher that is in front of him being a man. Not an awkward, gangly kid, wide-eyed and all limbs. But a full size man, a grown man, with chest hair and stubble.</p><p>Then he realizes, as he's looking at Ian's strong legs that are almost too long for the dark blue jumpsuit, that green eyes are on him. Emerald eyes. Piercing him. His stomach does a somersault but he can't look away. They lock eyes and he feels like Ian is… What? Concerned? Sad? No, pleading. He looks at Mickey like he is begging him for something. But Mickey's got nothing for him right now. Not a damn thing. </p><p>With all his strength he breaks the gaze and moves away from the window. And he feels… Guilty? <em> Why the fuck should I feel guilty? </em> He asks himself.</p><p>Mickey gathers up his phone, keys, and wallet and heads down the stairs. He doesn't know where he's going or what he's doing, but he's getting the fuck out of there and that's all that matters right now. He's getting away from his little room where he keeps having nightmares, the garage with all it's recent drama, and he's getting away from the intense stare of a redhead who's come to ruin his life. </p><p>Maybe. </p><p>He guesses. </p><p>He's actually not sure what Ian is doing here. </p><p><em>What the fuck </em> <b> <em>is</em> </b> <em> he doing here?  </em></p><p>He shakes the thought loose from his head and hits the pavement, going where his feet take him.</p><p>***</p><p>Up familiar streets and down seedy alleys, on roads that lead to nowhere and over fences to abandoned lots, through victory gardens and into gentrified neighborhoods that are unrecognizable… <em> Where the fuck am I?  </em></p><p>But he knows where he is. </p><p>He has managed to walk a labyrinth through Chicago to finally end up at the place he could have walked almost a straight line to—or at least a zig-zag. But he really thought that this was the last place he would go. He was positive he would avoid it, would stay away at all costs, but here he is standing across the street from the Milkovich House of Horrors.</p><p><em> Why am I here? </em> </p><p>He hadn’t been there since the night he was arrested. The last night ever that Terry had dragged him out of bed, drunk and most likely high on coke, determined to go out and show his son how to <em> have a good time </em>. Show him how to be a man. </p><p>“What? You’re too good to get drunk with your old man?” Terry had grabbed Mickey’s ankle and pulled him out of his bed, red in the face and spitting his words. “Come on, you fucking pansy!”</p><p>Mickey had complied. Like he always did, not wanting to incur anymore wrath. Not wanting to give Terry anymore reason to call him a pansy or queer or faggot. He had gotten up and got dressed and did a bump like he was told and chugged a beer and left the house with his father to embark on a journey that would lead to events that would change their lives forever. And the lives of everyone they knew really.</p><p>That was the last time he had been there, and he had promised himself he wouldn’t go back. He couldn’t go back. Mickey is sure that his family would never forgive him for what he did—that they wouldn’t understand. That they probably wanted him dead. How could he face his brothers, with them knowing what he did to their father and knowing that he was a snitch? </p><p><em> Snitch </em>. The word gets lodged. Gets stuck in his brain. His traitorous brain that reminds him that he broke a code, violated a trust, did something they had been taught was a mortal sin from the time they could all walk. He had snitched. And even worse than that he had snitched to protect himself from doing a long stretch of hard time—another thing they were expected to accept and suck up and be able to do. </p><p>But he was about to do hard time for yet another mortal sin—another transgression against the family—which he had been sure would get him killed, especially in prison. So when the federal prosecutor stepped into the interview room with her pencil skirt and suit coat and tight black bun, he was ripe for the picking. He was afraid and tired and battered and bruised. And had very little resolve left. He was fucked.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <em> "Good Evening, I'm Federal Prosecutor Malone." She sat opposite from him, thin white fingers laced on the table in front of her, looking at Mickey with dark brown eyes, expectantly. Her features were actually delicate, but the stiff and severe packaging made that almost impossible to recognize. When Mickey didn't respond she sat forward studying his expression, trying to decide her best move. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Are you Mikhailo Alexandr Milkovich?" She asked. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Mickey licked his cracked, red lips, but continued to sit in silence. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Okay, Mikhailo," Prosecutor Malone sat back again, "I—" </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "If you knew it was me then why did you ask?" Mickey looked at her through one eye, the other too swollen and still crusted with blood. "I've been here for almost twenty-four hours and haven't gotten any phone calls, haven't gotten booked… you're actually the first person to come and harass me all day, so what's goin’ on? That bastard dead?" </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Malone was taken aback and studied his face further. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Mikhailo—" </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Mickey. Just call me Mickey."  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Ok, Mickey," Malone opened the folder on the table in front of her. Mickey couldn't see most of the written content, but he could see a stack of photos and right on top was a picture of his father—a picture of Terry. "Your father is Terry Milkovich? Correct?" </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "More stupid fucking questions, huh?" Mickey said quietly, barely having the energy to be a smartass, but still managing to muster it up.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He had been sitting in that chair since they tossed him in the room the night before. At least they had unshackled him and brought in some greasy fast food for him to eat eventually. After that he had taken a short nap on the table, but found his body—already sore from the strenuous physical act of trying to beat someone to death with his bare hands—couldn’t handle the cold hard steel underneath him and it was back to the chair. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Malone stared at him and he wondered if she was trying to figure out if he was worth it or not. He decided to put her out of her misery. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Yes, that piece of shit is my father. But you already know that. Just cut to the chase. You're a federal prosecutor and what I did wasn't a federal crime, so this ain't about me. It's obviously about him. Just tell me what you want." He was blunt and his voice cracked with exhaustion.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Mickey thought to himself: “Why the fuck am I talking so much?” It was one of the first things they learned when they were kids. You get picked up, you keep your trap shut—his father’s voice invading a five year old’s ear. The assumption being if you were a Milkovich, you were going to have a life of consistent criminal behavior, arrests, and incarceration. So you had better learn the rules. You never say a fucking word and you never snitch.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He had already violated the first rule at that point.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Alright." She seemed almost relieved by his direct response and Mickey thought she looked like she relaxed a little in the chair. "You are facing attempted murder charges, Mickey." </em>
</p><p><em> "So, he's </em> <b> <em>not </em> </b> <em> dead?" </em></p><p>
  <em> "No, he's not dead. He's in the critical care unit, but he will most likely pull through." </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "That's a shame." Mickey grimaced. "But I guess that's why you need me, right?" Mickey almost smiled, but his busted lip made him wince in pain instead. "He didn't die, so now you want me to snitch on him so when he recovers you can send him to prison? And you think you can make some kinda plea deal or some shit." </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Malone was quiet for a moment, she looked like she was sizing him up, trying to figure out his angle and if all this was a trap or a game. She let out a deep sigh, which Mickey thought seemed uncharacteristic, despite not knowing anything about her. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Yes, I would like for you to provide evidence and testify against your father in federal court in exchange for immunity towards any involvement in his crimes and a reduced charge and sentence." </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"And what's that?" Mickey asked. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "We would drop First Degree Attempted Murder—" </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "First Degree?" Mickey quickly gets loud, but still doesn't have much energy for anything else, unable to really move, so his tone seems powerless. "I didn't plan to kill that fuckhead." </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Malone is unfazed by his outburst and continues. "We would drop the First Degree Attempt down to Aggravated Assault. You'd do two, three years in medium." </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Mickey was quiet, looking at the table. Unmoving. Malone studied his face, both of them frozen. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Mickey, there are eye witnesses that saw you beating your father, refusing to stop, yelling at him…" Malone shuffled a few papers and found what she was looking for. "'I'm going to kill you, you fucking prick. I've been wanting to do this my whole fucking life.' and another 'You're gonna fucking die. I don't ever want to hear you breathing again' and—" </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Enough!" Mickey's lip started to tremble, he felt the cold rush of adrenaline, a leftover dose from the night before when he had almost beaten Terry Milkovich to death. And he wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed that he wasn't dead. Wet droplets clung to his bottom lashes, refusing to become tears, but his lips quivered and he felt pain deep in his chest. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "He—" Mickey started. "I—" He realized anything he said would incriminate him. Even if he told her why he had finally snapped and almost beat Terry to death, it wouldn't matter. She might have appreciated it, maybe even empathized, but it would have actually strengthened her case, not helped his own, so he sucked his bloodied bottom lip into his mouth and focused on his fingers.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> F-U-C-K U U-P. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Your father has been involved in a string of federal crimes across at least fifteen states, spanning the last thirty years." Malone started to lay out photographs of varying ages, some were obvious new prints of old photos, the yellow tint of age still showing through.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And there was Terry from last week, from last year, Terry from when Mickey was fourteen, and from when his mother disappeared. Terry from his infancy and before Mickey was born. Then Malone laid out a second set of photos, also from various time periods, but with a shorter range. Because in these photos, Terry was with familiar faces.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "And over the last thirteen years, you have been involved in dozens of them—you and your brothers." </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "You leave my brothers out of this." Mickey shot her a deadly glare, then he looked down at the photos again.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> His chest began to feel like it was caving in and his throat felt like sandpaper as the reality of what was in front of him hit him full force. "Thirteen years…" There, spread across the table in varying sizes and shades… Thirteen years… thirteen years and dozens of photos of Mickey Milkovich in different stages of development by his father's side, taking direction, carrying out orders. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "I was eight years old." Mickey said, his voice sounding anguished and weak as he looked up at her fiercely. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Yes," Malone nodded, "we know none of what you did as a minor can be used, but--" </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Fuck you, bitch!" He spat out the words, gritting his teeth and pushing out angry breaths through his nostrils. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Malone didn't flinch, but she raised an eyebrow, seemingly surprised at his sudden shift from regular jackass to a venomous one. </em>
</p><p><em> "That's not what I'm talkin' 'bout." Mickey's voice cracked and he started to tremble. "You </em> <b> <em>knew</em> </b> <em> . You </em> <b> <em>watched</em> </b> <em> . Some of these pictures are practically inside our house. So you </em> <b> <em>saw</em> </b> <em> ." He shook his head, and his mouth gaped open, almost in shock. </em></p><p>
  <em> "You saw what he did to us. To all of us. And you left us there. You thought it was a good idea to leave this eight year old kid there with a homicidal, drug dealing, gun running, violent prick so you could what? Get some good photo opportunities? What were we? Guinea pigs to you? Or animals in a fuckin' zoo?" His face was twisted in pain. "My brothers… Iggy and Collin and Jamie… and what he did to my little sister, what he did to Mandy… but you just took pictures. Thought maybe one day we might be useful?" Mickey huffed and ground his jaw, wanting to hit, wanting to fight, wanting to see something bleed.  </em>
</p><p><em> "You get pictures of him breaking my arm when I was nine ‘cos I couldn’t find his cigarettes fast enough? How about when he held a gun to Collin’s head when he was thirteen? That was over nothin’. The fucker was just too loaded on God knows what to know what he was doin’. How about how he treated my sister, or when he cracked Iggy’s skull, or threw Jamie through the front window when he was </em> <b> <em>fourteen. </em> </b> <em> Did you get a good shot of him carrying out that half dead boy in a rug? My—” Mickey shook his head, not really wanting to finish. He couldn’t conjure that memory all the way up ‘cos it had to do with someone he had tried to stop thinking about years ago. But that was enough. He’d said enough to prove his point. </em></p><p><em> “Yeah, we ran away from foster homes and group homes. But he should have never been able to get us back.” Mickey’s voice got quiet, almost like he was somewhere else. “You let him do all that to us. You </em> <b> <em>watched </em> </b> <em> him. And you did nothing, but take fuckin’ pictures.” Mickey crossed his arms and sat back in his chair, shaking his head and letting out low breaths. </em></p><p>
  <em> They sat in silence, Mickey not making eye contact, refusing to look at her. Malone looked at him and he could tell she was preparing to dive back in.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Mickey broke the silence instead. “Fuck you, you fucking cunt. I want a lawyer. And I want you to get the fuck out of my face." </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Mickey felt nauseous and he was trying to keep his eyes away from the pictures of the twisted scrapbook of his childhood that was spread out before him. But like any trainwreck it was hard to look away.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Mickey at twenty, loading guns into the back of a van with Iggy. Sixteen year old Mickey with his arm in a cast and a busted face, buying drugs in an abandoned warehouse. A preteen Mickey, holding a gun to someone's head while his father interrogated them. And Mickey in his little league uniform, being drug away from his baseball game by the collar. He suddenly sat up and stabbed at the photo with his hand.  </em>
</p><p><em> "You see that, </em> <b> <em>Persecutor</em> </b> <em> Malone?" Mickey looked at her, challenging her. "That's an eight year old kid that's about to get taken on his first wet job. He's about to watch a man get beaten to death instead of playing first base."  </em></p><p>
  <em> Malone's face froze and she appeared to be working hard to maintain eye contact with the angry, wounded person in front of her, but she was wavering. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "But, hey," Mickey threw his hands up weakly, "you got your picture." He laughed sarcastically. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Malone's eyes were downcast. It was obvious she wasn't expecting this reaction and Mickey glanced at her and saw she was trying to figure out how to regain control of the situation, thinking perhaps she had overplayed her hand. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Mickey couldn't look at her or the photos anymore and his eyes fell to his tattooed knuckles. He noticed that they were bloody and raw, and he wondered for a second how he hadn't noticed how torn up they were before. Mickey examined his hands and considered how much of the blood was his and how much was Terry's. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Mickey," Malone said in an unusually steady voice for the situation at hand, and he looked at her again, reluctantly, maliciously. "I'm sorry that happened. I know it doesn't matter, but I had nothing to do with the surveillance or gathering of evidence from when you were a child. Most of this was here when I took the job." She was cautious, not wanting to misstep. "I have been involved for the last two years, and in that time, your father, brothers, uncle, and cousins and you, have all taken part in moving large shipments of illegal firearms across state lines." Malone replaced the prompts for his hellish trip down memory lane with new photos, further evidence of their misdeeds. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Mickey, we don't want you or your brothers, or anyone else in your family." Malone sat forward. "We want Terry. And we want you to help us." When Mickey didn't say anything, she let out another slow breath that commanded his attention.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "At this point it's either you testify against your father, do a few years in medium, and get out still young enough to turn your life around… " </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Mickey scoffed and shook his head. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Or you face a Class X felony charge with a minimum sentence of twenty years. And you're guaranteed to catch at least one case from this." Malone gestured to the photos in front of him. "And, Mickey, so will your brothers." </em>
</p><p>
  <em> His head snapped up and she held his attention. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Everyone will be arrested." </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Bullshit," Mickey spat out. "If you have evidence enough to arrest all of us then you don't need me." </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "That's just it, Mickey." She sighed. "We don't have enough evidence on Terry to prosecute, we only have enough evidence against all the rest of you."  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Mickey looked down at the photos again and he realized that most of the time someone else was holding the bag, exchanging the money, receiving the guns. Terry is observing everyone one else carry out his orders, but his hands didn’t touch anything.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "It isn't just photographs. There is other evidence, but most of it implicates you and your brothers.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Fuck." Mickey let out a long ragged breath. Him doing time was one thing. He expected it, had been mentally preparing for it all night and all day, but this wasn’t just about him and Terry anymore. It was about his whole family, and he felt an overwhelming sense of responsibility that caused him to falter. "So, if I do this. If I help you, you'll leave the rest of my family alone?" </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Yes, guaranteed." Malone nods her head.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "And you'll give me immunity?" </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Absolutely, and reduce your charges." </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "I'm not testifying or giving anyone information about anyone else outside the family either." </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Fair enough. We just want Terry." </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He puffed out air in an uneven manner, looking all around the room, feeling like he was deciding whether or not to sell his soul to the devil. And he thought maybe he was. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "We can also put you in protective custody while you're locked up," Malone offered. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Naw," Mickey said, shaking his head. "I'll take my chances. Anyway, me being in protective custody just puts a bigger target on my back." </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Does this mean you're accepting the offer?"  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Mickey let out a deep sigh, feeling like he was going to throw up and screaming inside his own head to stop. But he couldn’t. "I want a lawyer first to look over everything. I don’t fuckin’ trust you." </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Of course, we will talk to the Public Defender. Get someone down here with experience." Malone nodded her head, looking calm, but Mickey thought he could see excitement behind her eyes. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Then, yeah, once everything checks out I'll be your fuckin' snitch."  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And just like that Mickey Milkovich had sold his soul. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> *** </em>
</p><p><em> Fuck. What am I doing here? </em> Mickey turns and starts to walk away, feeling sick to his stomach and afraid, maybe.</p><p>“Mickey!” Mickey hears a familiar voice. One he hasn’t heard in at least three years, probably more, and he freezes. </p><p>
  <em> Too late to run now, you idiot.  </em>
</p><p>“Mickey, what the fuck are you doing?” It’s the voice of one of his older brothers—it’s the voice of Iggy. “Get over here!”</p><p>Mickey’s shoulders rise and the hair on the back of his neck stands up, but he turns and sees his brother standing on the porch of their home. Not Mickey’s home anymore, but the Milkovich home nonetheless. He was still a Milkovich, but that would never be his home again. He wasn’t even sure who was living there now, but he knew it didn’t belong to him.</p><p>“Hey.” Mickey gives a weak smile and an awkward wave. “Howsit going?”</p><p>“What?” Iggy looks at him with a sneer and flicks his cigarette into the yard that's still filled with car parts, stolen bikes, beer cans and—well, garbage. “What the fuck, Mickey? Get over here.”</p><p>Mickey slowly makes his way across the street, looking all around him, keeping his head on a swivel. He isn’t sure what to expect, but he is positive his brother is not there to welcome him with open arms. </p><p>The stairs up to the porch are hazardous, planks of rotting wood moan and creak as Mickey steps down on them, playing an eerie soundtrack on the ascent to his assured demise. He has to avoid several holes and feels he has skirted danger once he makes it to where Iggy is standing with his arms crossed, glaring at his younger brother with light green eyes, set in a too scruffy for his age face and framed by short straight dirty blond hair. He looks older, much older. And Mickey can see that life has worn him down.</p><p>“Hey, Ig.” Mickey looks down, finding it really difficult to meet the gaze of his brother. </p><p>“What the fuck, Mickey?” Iggy uncrosses his arms and grabs Mickey by the shoulders. Mickey flinches, sure that he is being attacked and feeling like he probably deserves it. But Iggy surprises him and pulls him into his chest, into a hug. “Where the fuck have you been, you asshole?” </p><p>Mickey goes limp and he isn’t sure how to respond. The Milkoviches weren’t big huggers and it isn’t like him and Iggy were particularly affectionate with each other ever, so he isn’t sure how to react to this foreign contact, especially because now he has to switch gears from bracing for an attack to figuring out how to handle friendly physical contact from his brother. </p><p>Iggy pushes him back. “You ain’t got nothin’ to say, huh?”</p><p>“Sorry, I—”</p><p>“Come on.” Iggy motions for Mickey to follow him in the house. Mickey hesitates for a split second, but his brother doesn’t notice, and he moves forward to join Iggy inside.</p><p>LIttle has changed. He isn’t surprised by that, but he has to admit to himself he's disappointed. Every sign and symptom of the first twenty-one and a half years of his life are still there. The Mickey-shaped hole molded into the sheet rock in the living room, the burn marks in the carpet where Mandy had set Terry on fire while he was passed out, the broken bannister where Terry’s fist had missed their brother Collin’s head. Graffitied walls, stripped paint, broken down couch, and boarded up windows. Dining room table full of guns, a drug scale in the kitchen, some familiar faces that may be strangers or may be cousins. He’s not sure. But it’s all still here and suddenly Mickey can’t breathe.</p><p>“I can’t be here.” He looks up at Iggy, eyes wide and full of terror. “I can’t be in here, Iggy.” Mickey turns around and starts to run out the door when his brother catches his shoulder.</p><p>“Wait! Mickey, just wait.” Iggy spins him around slowly and looks at him. “Look, if you can’t be in here ‘cos of the guns or the shit or whatever the fuck is going on with you then let’s go somewhere else. Don’t just fuckin’ run away.” His brother’s eyes are full of pain and Mickey can’t ignore that, realizing it has never occurred to him that his brother might actually want to see him or have some feelings about Mickey being gone that don't involve homicide. Maybe he'd been completely wrong about everything. Maybe. Probably not. He's sure someone in the Southside wants revenge, even if it isn't Iggy. </p><p>“Okay,” Mickey spits it out, almost choking on his words. “Okay, Ig.” He looks down and nods his head slowly.</p><p>They get in Iggy’s beaten up old Subaru. It looks like it used to be burgundy or maroon, but now it's dusty looking pink with splotches of rust, courtesy of the harsh Chicago winters. They drive in silence, and the tension is immense. </p><p>Finally, Mickey breaks, not able to contain his thoughts any longer.</p><p>“Are you guys gonna kill me?” he blurts out, turning to look at his brother.</p><p>“What?!” Iggy almost swerves off the road and into a parked car. “What the fuck?”</p><p>“Are you gonna kill me? You, Uncle Ronnie, Collin, Jamie, our cousins… are you gonna kill me? I know you know what I did, Iggy. I get it,” he says, all in one breath, so fast Iggy can barely process it.</p><p>“Yeah, we know what you did, but we also know what fuckin’ Pops did.” Iggy pulls over, unable to have this conversation and drive without killing them.</p><p>“I know what you did and why you did it and I understand why you snitched on him. He needed to go away and you didn’t need to be in prison for twenty fucking years for attempted murder. And I know about the evidence they had.” Iggy grips the steering wheel, starting to rock back and forth, tears welling up in his eyes. “I know you were trying to protect us, too. Even if it got you killed.”</p><p>“Iggy—” Mickey isn’t sure what to do. He didn't expect any of this, and he certainly had never seen his brother cry—or almost cry.</p><p>“No, listen, Mickey.” Iggy turns and looks Mickey in the eye, holding back as much as he can. “You think any of us care that you tried to kill him? How many times did we try to kill him? After that fucked up run to Wisconsin, I put enough tranquilizers in his whiskey to kill a fucking horse. After a fuckin’ beating, Collin held a gun to his head when he was passed out for like two hours. But none of us could do it. Mandy came the closest. At least she actually set him on fire. I mean, until you did what you did. At least you finished him off.”</p><p>“Whoa, what?” Mickey, who had been transfixed by his brother’s words, having never actually thought about the fact that they had all tried to commit patricide on multiple occasions, is snapped into reality. “What are you talking about, ‘finished him off’?”</p><p>“The hit.” Iggy looks at Mickey like he’s fucking with him. “In prison, Mickey. The hit that killed Pops.”</p><p>“It was a fight...” Mickey trails off and gets quiet.</p><p>“Naw.” Iggy shakes his head. “It was a hit. Jamie knows the brother of the guy that did it. Called to make amends, let him know it was just business. Didn't want any bad blood between the families.”</p><p>Mickey’s mouth is left gaping open. “What?” It feels like there is ice in the pit of his stomach. “Iggy, I didn’t do it. I had nothin’ to do with that. Why—”</p><p>“We just figured ‘cos you snitched on him and—”</p><p>“What? Fuck no. I put that asshole in federal prison. That seems like that should have been enough.” Mickey is shocked by the news and even more shocked that he has been suspected of having his father killed this whole time, and not only did he not know, but no one had come after him. </p><p>“You also almost killed him before that. Remember, dude, that’s why <em> you </em>were in prison. Everyone just assumed you were trying to finish the job or have him killed before he put a hit out on you.” Iggy says it so casually that Mickey is speechless at first. </p><p>Iggy continues, not really looking at Mickey. “I mean, you saw… he had been setting us up our whole lives. They showed me all that shit six months before when I got busted for that B &amp; E, but I was too scared. I did the time. And that night… with that guy… we all just assumed you were <em> trying </em>to kill Pops. And then when you saw the pictures… ” Iggy shrugs and sucks in a deep breath.</p><p>It's true. Mickey had beaten the holy hell out of Terry right in a dark alley. Hadn't planned to do it, but he honestly felt he had no choice. Mickey actually thought for a second as he was doing it that he might be actually killing Terry, but he couldn't stop himself. </p><p>“No.” Mickey looks his brother in the eye and shakes his head. “It wasn’t me.” Mickey's head starts to swirl with a combination of emotions that threaten to overwhelm him. He feels relief and confusion and maybe even some joy. But what he doesn’t feel is sad or any type of mourning. </p><p>Then heat starts to run through his veins and he feels angry, he can’t quite explain and isn’t sure he is justified, but he honestly is angry that all this time his brothers and whoever else had believed he had put a hit out on his father in prison, even though it was true that in the heat of the moment he had almost killed Terry. He hadn’t premeditated it and he didn’t think he could, but when it was happening he did wish him dead. Wanted him gone. Wasn’t going to stop until Terry could no longer move. And that’s what he had done.</p><p>Mickey shakes his head more violently. “No, I had nothin’ to fucking do with that piece of shit getting shanked. Now fuck off with that.”</p><p>Iggy shrugs, not phased by his brother’s sudden change in mood and demeanor. “I don’t know. Whatever.”</p><p>“Yeah, and don’t act like whoever it was didn’t do the whole fucking world a favor. Everyone wanted that piece of shit gone.”</p><p>“Yeah, well. Then who knows who the fuck did it.”</p><p>“The Russians,” Mickey offers.</p><p>“The Italians,” Iggy counters.</p><p>“Those Mexicans he stole that shipment of guns from down south.”</p><p>“That crazy bitch from Springfield that would call all the time sayin’ Pops’ killed her husband.”</p><p>“Well, he probably did.”</p><p>“Yeah, but she sounded fuckin’ crazy,” Iggy insists like it makes a difference.</p><p>Mickey shrugs. “Fuck that piece of shit.”</p><p>Iggy sighs raggedly, looking straight ahead. He can’t bring himself to say it, even though in his heart he agrees, knows it’s true, but Mickey knows just like all the other captives of his father, that the brainwashing was deep; it was precise, it was insidious and Iggy couldn’t curse his father’s name even though he wanted to with every fiber of his being. He hangs his head down and lets out a long stream of air like Mickey does when he's doing shrink breathing exercises.</p><p>Mickey sees the conflict all over his brother's face. “It’s okay, man. He was our father.”</p><p>“Yeah.” Iggy looks up and out the front window and is quiet. “Let’s go get a beer. My treat. Let’s go to the Alibi.”</p><p>Mickey takes a deep breath and sits back, the thought of going to the old hangout is daunting, but he’s here and they can’t just sit in Iggy’s car all day talking about their murdered father and all the people that could've killed him.</p><p>“Yeah, alright,” Mickey relents. “Let’s fuckin’ go.”</p><p>They get to the Alibi, and just like the Milkovich house, nothing has changed. The neighborhood might be transforming as aging hipsters move in and change the landscape, but the guts of the Southside remain—dirty and raw, scraping and clawing, just fuckin' surviving.</p><p>Mickey sees a familiar face right away behind the bar. His dark brown hair is shorter, but Kevin Ball doesn't look like he's changed at all either. The tall motherfucker looks up and sees Mickey too and a big goofy smile stretches across his face.</p><p>"Hey, man. Hey, Ig," he greets Mickey and his brother brightly then turns to Mickey. "I heard you got out a while ago. How ya been?"</p><p>"Uh, good." Mickey isn't sure how to answer that question so he lies, somewhat caught off guard by Kevin's warm greeting. He really hadn't been expecting anyone to give a shit about him being there other than to kill him, which he now knows no one wants to do.</p><p>"Yeah, heard you been working at an auto shop." Kevin smiles, pouring beer from the tap into a pint glass.</p><p>“Uh, yeah.” Mickey nods, confused at how this piece of information has made its way here.</p><p>“Hey, remember, Ian? Gallagher? Redhead?" Kevin motions up to his own hair. "Just got out.”</p><p>“What?” Mickey is alarmed and confused.</p><p>“Yeah, man, saw him the other day with his brother. Looks good. That Gay Jesus shit was crazy, right? Poor kid with the Bipolar and shit...” Kevin continues to ramble and is completely oblivious to Mickey's alarmed expression.</p><p>Mickey can’t talk. He is having another mix of emotions that are swelling in his chest and causing his mouth to go dry. He just stares at Kev and feels his head nodding.</p><p>“Anyway, good to see you, man. Don’t be a stranger. This one's on me.” He slides a beer over to Mickey and winks at him then slides one over to Iggy as well.</p><p>
  <em> What the fuck just happened? </em>
</p><p>Mickey feels Iggy punch his shoulder and he turns around and back hands his arm. “Fuck off.” Mickey says with a scowl.</p><p>“Come on.” Iggy gives him a disgruntled face and leads Mickey to a booth in the corner.</p><p>They sit down and Mickey tries to shake off the feelings the conversation with Kev has created. </p><p>
  <em> Fucking ridiculous. Can’t get away from that asshole no matter where I go. And why did Kev think I would care? What the fuck? </em>
</p><p>“Hey asshole? You done having a conversation with yourself and ready to talk to me? Tell me what the fuck you’ve been doin'?” Iggy pushes forward and looks at Mickey expectantly.</p><p>Mickey had definitely been mumbling all of that shit out loud without realizing it and was embarrassed, hoping it hadn’t been intelligible. “Sorry,” he tells Iggy and sits back in his seat, breathing<em> in through his nose, out through the mouth.  </em></p><p>
  <em> Condensation on glass. </em>
</p><p>He makes an effort to ground himself and not do it out loud.</p><p>“Sorry, man.” Mickey looks down in his beer. “And I’m sorry I didn’t contact you or anything. I just—”</p><p>“Thought we wanted to kill you?"</p><p>“Well, that and…” Mickey isn’t sure how to say it without sounding like a prick. “And I’m just trying really hard to not—” He doesn’t have the right words, can’t put it together.</p><p>“Be a Milkovich?” Iggy offers with no malice in his voice.</p><p>“What? No.” Mickey looks at him, shaking his head. “Maybe just not be Terry’s son. Not be someone that does all the things he always made me do. I don’t wanna be like him. I don’t wanna be in and out of prison all my life and doing fucked up shit to just barely survive. I don’t know.” Mickey pulls out his cigarettes and offers one to his brother then lights his own.</p><p>“I get it, Mickey.” Iggy takes a drag and gives his brother a smile, his signature smile that almost looks like a sneer, but is just a little too goofy to be one. “You got a chance to get out. You got a good job. Fuck, you’re a mechanic. That’s so fuckin’ cool.”</p><p>“Wait.” Mickey leans in and looks at his brother, eyes squinting like he is trying to see something far away. “How do you know all that?”</p><p>“What you think just ‘cos I didn’t want to kill you I wasn’t gonna keep tabs on my little brother?” Iggy’s lip curls up and he looks away from Mickey’s gaze. “I can’t say I wasn’t hurt, Mickey. You didn’t even call or try to write or nothin’, but I understood. Well, I didn’t know you thought I wanted to murder you—” With that, they both laugh, looking directly at one another again. “—but I understood you wantin’ to get out. I think about it sometimes, but I don’t think I can do anything else, you know?”</p><p>Mickey wants to tell his brother that it isn’t true, that there are other things he can do, that he can get on the straight and narrow, but he doesn’t actually believe it and he’s pretty sure if he says it out loud Iggy will know he’s just trying to make him feel better. The words would be empty. So he doesn’t say anything for a few beats.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Iggy,” Mickey says sincerely and with sadness in his voice. “About everything.”</p><p>Iggy grins at Mickey and gives him a look that is laced with forgiveness. The brothers smile at each other and there is a silent acknowledgement, an understanding that comes to pass without words that they were going to be okay.</p><p>“So, I hear Ian’s working at your shop, huh?” Iggy finally breaks the silence and takes a gulp of his beer.</p><p>“What the fuck?!” Mickey is incredulous. “First of all, why does everyone want to talk about howdy fuckin’ doody all the time? And, second, what makes you think he’s working at the shop?”</p><p>“Dude, everyone knows everything about everybody who lives around here. You know that.” Iggy looks at him, lip snarled.</p><p>“What do you mean ‘lives around here’?” Mickey asks more quietly.</p><p>“Ian’s back at the Gallagher house. They had a big fuckin' party for him. Collin and I went. It was right before he got locked up. Collin’s locked up by the way.” Iggy slips that bit of information in. “Ian comes in here sometimes.”</p><p>“So, what, he knew and was just what—fucking with me?” Mickey gestures to Kev.</p><p>“Naw, man, I doubt it, Kev ain't the brightest bulb. But Gallagher told me—”</p><p>“You fuckin’ talked to him?” Mickey’s voice goes up several octaves and he is ready to jump out of his seat.</p><p>“What’s the big fuckin' deal, Mickey? That shit was fuckin’ years ago.”</p><p>“Shut the fuck up, Iggy. I don’t want to talk about that bitch anymore.” Mickey chugs the rest of his beer and slams it down.</p><p>“Alright, whatever, you’re the one acting like a bitch. You're not even making sense.” Iggy looks at his brother, daring him.</p><p>“Fuck you,” Mickey tells him. And oddly enough it feels like old times.</p><p>They spend the rest of the time drinking pints of beer and talking about where various family members are or where they might be. Iggy tells Mickey about the recent job he pulled with their cousins and their uncle, who—according to Iggy—all seemed wholly unfazed by Terry’s death. Iggy tells Mickey that Collin got a year in jail and that Jamie got his girlfriend knocked up and that they're gonna be uncles. </p><p>And even though he doesn’t want to, Mickey asks about Mandy.</p><p>“Nobody knows, man.” Iggy traces the wet ring of water left behind by his pint glass, and tries not to look sad. “Looked for her, especially after Pops died. Wanted to let her know. Thought maybe she’d come back. But no one could find her.”</p><p>Mickey can’t say anything. He sits back and blows out a long breath. He understood why she left. They all did, but he still feels a sting in his heart when he thinks about the fact that she never tried to call or anything, and he wonders if that's how he had made Iggy feel.</p><p>“She did what she needed to do.” Mickey finally lets the words out, breathy and somber. “I just hope she’s okay.”</p><p>"Ahh, she’s tough.” Iggy looks at Mickey. They both know he’s trying to reassure not just Mickey but also himself. </p><p>“Yeah, she’s fuckin’ tough.” Mickey nods.</p><p>The silence extends for a few more gulps of beers then Iggy asks about the work he is doing at the shop, and Mickey starts to talk about the Chevelle. Iggy can see a glint in Mickey's eye, and a heartfelt smile spreads across Iggy’s face. </p><p>“That’s so fucking cool.” Iggy is genuine and Mickey feels a warm swell in his chest. “Fuck all of this, this life. Man, you’re doing good. I’m proud of you. But—” Iggy looks down and then shifts his eyes back and finally meets Mickey’s gaze. “—maybe try to like hang out more. You know. You don’t have to come to the house, but like we’re brothers. We should be brothers. I promise I won’t get you in trouble.”</p><p>Mickey smiles at that. “Yeah, alright.” He nods his head and he means it.</p><p>They hang out for several more rounds and reminisce about stupid shit, trying to keep the conversation light. Although, some of what they talk about would sound like anything but light to a non-Southside set of ears. </p><p>They talk about Iggy's ex-girlfriend who tried to stab him. They talk about the time they got chased on foot by the cops after they robbed a convenience store and got away by jumping fences the cops couldn't get over. And they talk about the time Mandy chased away that lady school teacher pedophile out of the neighborhood by threatening to kill her while Iggy and their cousin dug a grave in her front yard. They talk about a lot of shit that may be dark and twisted, but it brings them to tears from laughter, and that's all that matters.</p><p>Iggy drives Mickey back to the shop, and they stop for a slice on the way. They eat with gusto—reminiscing and finding out your family doesn't want to murder you works up an appetite. </p><p>When they get to Mickey's, he doesn't invite Iggy in. He's just not ready to do that yet—let him into his world a little more—but he knows he will soon. They pat each other on the back, avoiding an awkward hug in the car, and they make sure to exchange numbers.</p><p>Inside his room, he sits by his window and quietly smokes, thinking about all that had transpired that day. The visit was centering, as Maria would say, and he feels lighter. Even with all the fucking Gallagher talk, he feels… good. He feels good, which is a welcome feeling amongst all the crazy, out of control ones he has experienced over the last nine days. He’ll take good. </p><p>Then he remembers that someone had killed Terry. Not just some stupid fight in the yard over the weights or a perceived slight. Terry had legitimately been murdered in the third degree, premeditated and planned. Someone had paid someone to kill him in prison. And he sincerely wishes he could thank that person for doing what none of the rest of them could seem to get done. ‘Cos as Iggy reminded him, they had all fuckin’ tried. That person was a fuckin’ hero.</p><p>***</p><p>It's too early to go to bed, but it's too late to really go back out—or at least that’s the excuse he makes—and Mickey isn't sure what to do with himself. He decides he'll take a shower and sit down to draw for a bit and maybe just go to sleep a little early so he can get up and go to work and try to face the day, try to approach it anew. He feels light and—happy? <em> What's up with feeling good and happy? </em> Maybe that means he's gonna be okay, but he isn’t holding his breath.</p><p>Mickey takes a really hot shower, feeling the water relaxing his muscles and turning his skin a bright pink as it licks at his body. He lathers his washcloth and scrubs the back of his neck, feeling the suds slide down the middle of his back and down his ass. Moving the cloth across his chest in a circular motion, he grazes his nipples once, twice, and a third time until they are hard. </p><p>He is feeling <em> good.</em> Like, really good. He hasn’t felt this good in almost two weeks. Hasn’t felt this good since—well, since Gallagher got there. Or even before. Mickey remembers seeing him through the window this morning before he left on his walkabout, Ian’s jumpsuit so tight that Mickey could see all of the contours and muscles of his back. Mickey tries to shake loose the image; he doesn’t need to think about that fuckhead right now. Not while he’s feeling this good.</p><p>Mickey washes down his arms to his armpits and down the left side of his torso and then the right. He looks down and thinks about how his chest and stomach aren't as ripped as they were when he first got out of prison a year before. He pictures Ian again, his uniform opened in front and his chest with red hair, curly and bright. Ian was a man now and he was having trouble getting that out of his head. Maybe he doesn’t want to. Maybe not letting himself think about it has been part of the problem. </p><p>Mickey runs the washcloth down the parts of his back he can reach and then over the round curve of his ass cheeks and slides it down into where they part. The slippery soap suds feel so fucking luscious between his cheeks and he moans softly to himself when he runs one of his fingers across the sensitive tissue of hole. He pictures Ian’s hands so big and meaty, fingers so long… <em> Fuck </em>. He really doesn’t want to be, but fucking hell if he isn’t turned on. </p><p>It's been over two weeks since he's gotten laid, and all the recent stress and anxiety has left him feeling less than sexy, but he feels like so much had been lifted off him in the last 24 hours or so that his body is reminding him that he is a horny bastard and that he hasn't paid his ass or his cock any attention in weeks. </p><p>Mickey slides his index finger inside his entrance, which starts to make his cock grow hard with the subtle sting. He takes the hand with the washcloth and slowly soaps up his shaft, eventually abandoning the washcloth and running his soapy hand over his balls and back up to firmly grasp the base of his cock. </p><p>Mickey starts to run his hand up and down his length while he continues to probe his ass, swirling his thumb around the head. The slippery suds feel deliciously sinful and he tightens his fist around his cock, letting out a stuttered breath. He presses his forehead against the tile, moaning and whimpering, aroused, frustrated that he can’t quite hit his prostate, but also not wanting to stop what he’s doing to get a toy.</p><p>Mickey pulls his finger out of his hole and takes his hand and runs it through the suds still on his chest as the water trails down his back. He reaches up and tweaks his nipples, pinching them and lightly twisting them until they are hard and erect. A loud groan escapes his lips and he is once again seeing the redhead behind his eyes. His face when he looked up at him, seeing him, begging him for something Mickey wasn’t sure of. That face and those green eyes. Wide, pink mouth… that mouth… on his cock. He throws his head back and shuts his eyes tightly, picturing Ian on his knees in front of him, his mouth stretched around Mickey’s girth. Watery eyes. Begging eyes. Hollowing his cheeks and sucking him all the way down.</p><p>He is gasping, but this time from ecstasy, not from anxiety and he feels himself slipping away. Ian’s long fingers wrapped around his ass cheeks, gripping him and pulling him closer, taking him in—all of him in. Mickey tightens his grip even more and starts to fuck up into his fist, burying his face in the crook of his arm that is now resting on the tile and panting heavily. He feels himself getting closer as his balls tighten and he feels the pull in his stomach. </p><p>“Fuck,” he breathes out and feels so fucking close, fucking into his fist, fucking into Ian’s mouth. His pretty pink mouth surrounded by that freckled face. “Fuck!” he yells as streams of cum shoot from his cock and paint the tile in front of him. His body is shaking and jerky and he lets out a ragged breath, throwing his head back and putting his face directly in the water. </p><p>He rinses off his hands and the rest of his body before spraying down the wall, watching the evidence of his lustful transgression go down the drain. “Fuck,” he sighs one more time and starts to shake his head, finding it difficult to believe that he let his mind go there. Finding it even harder to believe that then his mind let him get off there.</p><p>Mickey turns off the water and stumbles out of the shower, not feeling as light as he had before, but still not feeling as burdened as he had that morning. He is toweling off when he hears a loud clang from down in the garage.</p><p>“What the fuck?!” Mickey jumps and slides onto his bed, just under the window. He inches his head up and sees standing in the garage, looking up at the window, Ian <em> fucking </em>Gallagher. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Mickey sits up quickly, scowling at Ian.</p><p>Mickey grabs a pair of sweats he had laid out and slips into them quickly then steps into his boots, not bothering to lace them up. He runs down the stairs, hair dripping and seething with rage, and he tears through the door that leads into the garage.</p><p>“What the fuck are you doing in here?” Mickey storms towards Ian, whose eyes are wide and face is red. </p><p>“I—I—” Ian is stammering and can’t get a word out.</p><p>“I—I what, fuckhead?” Mickey shouts in his face, puffing his chest out and holding his hands out from his sides.</p><p>Ian steps back until he hits the car behind him, but Mickey doesn’t back down. He is in front of him and they are almost touching. Ian’s breath hitches as he looks down at the shorter, angry man in front of him. </p><p>“I’m working,” Ian finally spits out.</p><p>“You’re <em> what</em>?” Mickey shouts, spitting and gnashing his teeth, furious that his safe space is once again invaded, but in a whole different way.</p><p>“I’m working,” Ian says with a little more confidence and he stands up straight, looking down at Mickey’s bare chest, eyes scanning his nipples and then up to his red and furious face.</p><p>“What the fuck?” Mickey yells. “It’s almost seven o’clock at night. Why the fuck are you working right now? You know I fuckin’ live up there, right?” Mickey points towards his room.</p><p>“Yeah, I’m sorry,” Ian stutters. “I didn’t think you were home and then I saw…” Ian trails off.</p><p>“You saw what?” Mickey sticks his chin up, challenging Ian, getting closer to him until their chests are centimeters apart.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Ian says again, but his voice is raspy and low. “I looked up and saw you.”</p><p>“You. Saw. What?” Mickey’s face is turned up to the taller man, daring him to say it.</p><p>“I saw you drying off,” Ian whispers, looking down at Mickey behind hooded eyes. </p><p>Mickey is speechless, his chest heaving with Ian’s, their faces only an inch apart. They can feel each other's hot breath and Mickey realizes he is panting and that Ian’s breath is ragged and irregular. Mickey suddenly becomes acutely aware that his chest is pressed against Ian’s, which is now only covered by the thin white tank top he had seen a hint of earlier. He can feel Ian’s pecs and abs pushing against his bare skin and electricity shoots down into his core. Ian’s looking at him, devouring him with his eyes and Mickey feels completely naked in front of him. He feels like Ian can see everything, including the fact that he just jerked off to the image of his cock in Ian’s mouth.</p><p>“Fuck you!” Mickey pushes off Ian’s chest with his palms and takes two steps back. “Why the fuck are you here right now?” He is still yelling and Ian rolls his eyes at him and crosses his arms in front of his chest.</p><p>“I didn’t mean to. I was going to leave as soon as I saw your light on up there, but you didn’t turn it on when you got home. I guess.” </p><p>“But why the fuck are you here, dumbfuck?” Mickey emphasizes each word with wild hand gestures.</p><p>“I’m staying late to get all the detail work and clean up and shit taken care of so I can start apprenticing during the day.” Ian rolls his eyes again, looking very done with the high drama this has caused.</p><p>“You what?” Mickey is so shrill it echoes in the garage.</p><p>“Can you fuckin’ stop yelling?” Ian finally raises his voice. “Jesus, Mickey.”</p><p>“Oh, am I being too loud for you now, princess?” Mickey’s nostrils are flaring. “And who the fuck told you to stay late and do that? Huh?”</p><p>“Willie did,” Ian tells him defiantly.</p><p>“Oh, Willie. Yeah, of course.” Mickey laughs sarcastically and covers his mouth with his forefinger for a minute.</p><p>“What the fuck does that mean?” Ian tilts his head to the side and continues to look at Mickey, staring him down with more intensity as the minutes go by.</p><p>“Oh, nothin’. I’m sure I shouldn’t be surprised.” Mickey shakes his head. “You waltz the fuck in here and latch on to the first old dude you see…” Mickey breathes a quick angry breath out of his nose. “You just gonna move up like that, huh? Start apprenticing after seven fucking days on the job? It took me months.” Mickey is furious, positioning his hands on his hips and looking at Ian with contempt.</p><p>“How is that my fuckin’ fault, Mickey?” Ian raises his voice again and takes a step closer to him.</p><p>“It’s what you do though, right? Find yourself a sugar daddy to take care of things for you?” Mickey sucks in his bottom lip and nods his head.</p><p>“Fuck you, Micky!” Ian is moving closer and closer to him.</p><p>“Nah, I don’t think I can afford that.”</p><p>“You’re really gonna fuckin’ judge me like that?” Ian is right in Mickey’s face now, but Mickey isn’t backing down.</p><p>“You’re a bitch, Gallagher.” Mickey spits the words like venom in Ian’s face.</p><p>Ian doesn’t say anything, he reacts instead, pinning Mickey up against the wall next to them, trapping Mickey’s hands above his head. </p><p>“I'm nobody's bitch.” Ian presses his hips against Mickey, holding him in place. </p><p>He's strong, stronger than Mickey expected and Mickey is struggling in vain to get away. </p><p>“But I'm gonna do what I hafta do to survive. You of all people should understand that, Milkovich. So fuck you!” Ian pushes off the wall, and turns to walk away. </p><p>Mickey is left breathless and twisting his hands around the bruises that are already forming on his wrist. And he feels bruised inside. Something deep in him. He knew deep down Ian was right, knew his judgement was unfair, but that truth couldn't make it's way all the way up to connect to his conscious mind. Not completely anyway, so it pushed just below the surface.</p><p>Mickey doesn’t intend to talk, he means to let Ian walk out the back door, but he can’t seem to stop himself.  “What are you doing here, Ian?" Mickey gasps, not realizing he had been holding his breath.</p><p>"What?" Ian stops in his tracks. He sounds exasperated and tired.</p><p>"Of all the shops in all of Chicago you end up here? Why?” </p><p>“What are you getting at?” Ian keeps his back to Mickey.</p><p>"You know what I’m getting at.” Mickey lets out a long breath and runs his fingers nervously through his hair, back still up against the wall.</p><p>Ian huffs, “Yeah, I know.”  He lets out a tired breath.</p><p>“What are you trying to do?” Mickey asks. </p><p>“Fix things?” Ian is earnest and he turns around, palms out and open, and looks at Mickey, looks him in the eye. </p><p>“You can’t.” Mickey shakes his head and starts walking in Ian’s direction. “Shit’s too broken.”</p><p>“You mean I’m too broken.” Ian gestures with his head and lifts up the side of his mouth in a sarcastic smile.</p><p>“What?” Mickey’s anger is rearing its head again. “You think you’re the only one who got a raw deal—got left permanently fucked by the shithole ghetto we grew up in?” He moves closer to Ian. “Or fucked up by our parents and… We both ended up in prison, didn’t we? You ain’t the only one broken. So fuck off!”</p><p>Ian is quiet and thoughtful for a moment. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He looks down at his feet. “But I still think—”</p><p>Mickey interrupts him before he can get out another word. “You can’t fix it, Ian.” Mickey looks down at his feet and shakes his head. “All that shit that happened with Lip and Mandy and you…And Mandy left. Gone. And you—” </p><p>“Are you serious?” Ian looks at him, incredulous and shakes his head. “That’s what you want to talk about?”</p><p>“I don’t want to fuckin’ talk about anything.” Mickey flails his arms around. “Not with you.”</p><p>“No, seriously. That’s it? That’s all you got to say?” Ian is beside himself. “You know I had nothing to do with what happened with Lip. That's fucking stupid. I tried to protect her. And you knew that at the time. I fuckin’ tried to take care of her.” Ian is walking closer to Mickey.</p><p>Mickey ignores Ian, looking anywhere he can, but Ian’s face.</p><p> “Mickey, we—” Ian starts.</p><p>“No ‘we’, Gallagher.” Mickey can’t meet his eyes, positioning his fists on his hips defiantly. “You’re lucky you’re still breathing.”</p><p>“Hmph,” Ian scoffs. “Okay. This is how you want it to be then?” Ian's not really asking, and he turns around and heads to the back door. “I’ll see you at work tomorrow, Milkovich.” He waves dismissively and slams the door on his way out, leaving Mickey breathless, cold, confused, and feeling something very close to guilt. </p><p><em> Fuck him! </em>Mickey yells inside his head and slides down the wall behind him, landing on the cold cement floor. He feels his mind starting to spin, but he can't remember how to ground himself right now or any of the fancy shrink tricks.</p><p>Mickey's anger and bravado collapses on itself. He feels his resolve crumble, and then his cocktail of emotions dissolves a layer of ice in his brain—a barrier that was preventing access to a piece of the puzzle he had no interest in solving. Mickey feels it transporting him back to a day seven years ago. The last day he ever talked to Ian. The last day he fought with Ian. The last day Ian was in his life until he appeared in front of him like a ghost ten days ago. </p><p>With every bone in his body Mickey wants to fight it off, but he can't. He sinks lower, deeper inside of himself, until he hears the familiar voice of a teenage Ian Gallagher.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <em> "Mickey, I need to talk to you." Ian busted through Mickey's bedroom door, out of breath, sweaty and demanding attention with his shockingly deep voice, loud and booming. His freckled face and red hair almost glowed in the doorway, stray light from the living room window making its way down the hall and creating an aura around him, framing his angry, twisted features. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "What the fuck, Gallagher?” Mickey was caught off guard and he began immediately fighting multiple urges at once. He hadn't been this close to him in almost two years and his first instinct was to punch him and the second… Well, his second instinct was part of the reason he hadn’t been this close to Ian in twenty-two months, one week, and four days. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Why are you here? You can't be here! You need to fucking leave!" Mickey started shaking.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "I don't fuckin' care!" Ian yelled back. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "You piece of shit, if my father gets home he's gonna fuckin' kill you!" Mickey shoved Ian back hard. "You and your fuckin' brother are lucky to still be breathing with what you’re doin’ to Mandy." </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Then it was Ian who shoved Mickey as they stumbled into the center of Mickey's room.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Fuck you. I'm the one that's been there for her. Where the fuck have you and your fuckin' psycho father been, huh?" Ian spat out the words. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Mickey grabbed the front of Ian's tight green T-shirt and for a second, he was distracted by the defined chest under it. He pushed it from his head and growled, "You don’t know shit about me and my dad. But your brother's a fuckin’ prick. And fuck you for letting him take advantage of her!" They were chest to chest, green eyes to blue eyes, nose to nose, both boys gnashing their teeth and breathing erratically. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Are you fuckin' kidding me? I was supposed to what? Follow them around and make sure they didn't fuck?" Ian grabbed at Mickey, twisting his long fingers in the thin cloth of Mickey's tank top. And there they were, tangled up in each other's clothes, clenched jaws, swaying to the rhythm of anger. Locked together.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Mickey felt heat all over his body and wanted to, wanted to break loose, or push himself closer. He didn't know, but the green eyes were puncturing him, going deep and he felt like he was choking. Mickey struggled, but found words just to stop whatever impulse he was about to act on. "Your brother is fuckin'—" </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "You have no idea what's going on!" Ian shoved Mickey off. Mickey was relieved but also felt an immediate loss, and he recognized he was panting. "You think you know, but you don't. You know nothing, you fuckin' dick!" Ian was breathing heavy, his eyes still penetrating Mickey, making the shorter, raven-haired boy feel dizzy. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "What are you talking about?" Mickey gasped. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Fuck!" Ian threw his arms in the air and shook his head. "Mandy is the one that wants to have the abortion, Mickey! Not Lip!" He shouted, his voice cracking slightly. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "What?" Mickey was stunned and he felt his mouth go dry. It didn't make any sense, and his brain was having difficulty processing the words that Ian was saying. "Then why is he going psycho?" </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Ian let out a long jagged breath and ran his hands up his face and over his short, wavy hair. "Because he doesn't want her to." </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Ian walked closer to Mickey, who was looking down at the ground trying to wrap his head around the new information.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "He's not pressuring her into an abortion. He's trying to stop her, you fucking idiot." Despite the harshness of the words, Ian's tone had softened, and he was no longer yelling. There is silence, but the static in the air seemed to crackle and spark, making both of them start to fill with nervous energy. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Are you guys still planning to kill him because of this? I mean he's a dick. No doubt. But you and your fuckin' family have it backwards." Ian bent down to make eye contact with Mickey, who finally looked at Ian, his blue eyes glassy and wide. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Ian kept moving closer until he was only a few inches away from Mickey. "You should talk to your sister, Mick." He says to Mickey gently. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Don't call me that. You don't call me that anymore." Ian frowned and tilted his head to the side, looking at Mickey and shaking his head slowly. The shorter boy is quiet and bewildered and sad. "She won't talk to me," he whispered. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Well, I wonder why." Ian's face goes cold.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Fuck you, Gallagher." Mickey said, with little force behind it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Ian ignored Mickey's half-hearted abuse. "Mandy has an appointment. I'm taking her. Lip doesn't know and I'm only telling you so you’ll fuckin' lay off.” Ian's voice rose steadily, obviously agitated and full of emotions, his anger returning. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Mickey lunged at Ian, grabbing at his shirt again, pulling him into him roughly. Mickey's face was twisted up into anger, confusion and...pain and... </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Ian put up no resistance and pressed his body into Mickey's. The tussling turned to gentle rocking, and Ian wrapped his big hands around Mickey's biceps, gripping them enough to send little spikes of pain, but not enough to bruise. Mickey's breath hitched and he felt his knees wobble when Ian bent down and moved his nose across Mickey's neck, inhaling him. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "You smell so fuckin' good," Ian growled with hot wet breath in Mickey's ear. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Ian," Mickey gasped, gripping the younger boy's shirt tighter, causing their bodies to fit together. Vibrating, tense, pulsating. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Ian nuzzled below Mickey's jawline and one of his hands slid across Mickey's back, up the nape of his neck, and into his raven locks, weaving his fingers in and out of Mickey's hair and sending shivers down his spine. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> *** </em>
</p><p>Mickey gasps for air, having trouble seeing, having trouble remembering where he is. He runs his hands over his body, looking for his phone, but he is barely dressed and he left his phone in his room. He starts to shiver.</p><p>Mickey throws his head back against the cement wall, pushing his back into it as hard as he can, his eyes pressed so tight he’s seeing spots. His breath is now coming out in short quick puffs and he’s feeling lightheaded. The clarity of the memory fades and becomes a kaleidoscope of feelings and images behind his eyes that he has no command of. They flow and surge in front of him until he feels under attack.</p><p>
  <em> Raised voices and clenched fists. Set jaws. Pushing and shoving. Grabbing and holding. Touching. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Touching. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Red lips, bright, wet and moist. Long fingers and red hair. Smell of dollar store shampoo and Sweat and hot breath. Hips pressed to hips. Burning hot. Panting. Tasting. </em>
</p><p>Mickey starts to choke; he’s nauseous, unable to feel his body. Then the swirling colors of images turn and twist, going dark in front of him and he loses all control.</p><p>
  <em> Pushing and fighting. Knuckles sliding across skin. Crack of cartilage and gristle. Hurt, wounded, pain and loss.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> His loss. Their loss.  </em>
</p><p><em> Mickey’s lost,</em> he hears in his mind like a whisper in his ear.</p><p>And it goes black, all color draining from his mind’s eye, the images slip into the abyss with Mickey close behind.</p><p>***</p><p><em> Bright lights and high ceiling. Motor oil and flannel on skin. </em> </p><p>
  <em> Mickey? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Mickey.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Frightened voice and scared boy. Orange halo and dragging feet. Stairwell, ceiling, and creaking bed frame. Soft pillow. Warm blanket. </em>
</p><p>Then Mickey is dreaming of Ian’s face close to his, dabbing at his forehead. It fuckin’ stings. And he can smell him. Motor oil, Old Spice body wash, sweet smelling sweat. Sees his lips, wide and grimacing, pink and full.</p><p>“Your lips,” Mickey says out loud, eyelids fluttering.</p><p>“Hey, you awake?” He hears Ian’s voice and at first feels comfort, feels warmth. </p><p>But Ian is really in front of him. He isn’t dreaming. He’s actually putting something on his forehead and breathing near his face and talking to him.</p><p>Mickey wants to react, but he’s not sure how or why. <em> Why is Ian here? Where am I? </em>He wants to sit up straight in bed, but he can’t move, and he suddenly becomes acutely aware that his body is shivering and he feels a pain in his head behind where Ian is applying what he is guessing is peroxide. His eyelids are heavy and he feels disconnected. His mouth is dry and he feels… panicked, scared, confused… lost… </p><p>“I—” Mickey can’t talk, but he’s able to look up into Ian’s eyes, who has sat back on his heels so he can look at Mickey.</p><p>“It’s okay. You don’t have to talk.” Ian’s voice is calm and smooth, and it does take some edge off of the situation despite the person it’s attached to.</p><p>Mickey searches his eyes and feels an ache in his chest. His eyes dart back and forth across Ian’s face and then behind him at the items in the room. His room. <em> This is my room. What the fuck just happened? </em> He tries to recall, but as soon as he starts moving backwards in his mind to recollect, the room starts to spin and his eyes start to close again. </p><p>Ian can see what is happening, and he moves in closer to Mickey, pulling the coats and blankets up tighter around him and then Ian places a large heavy palm on Mickey's shoulder. Something is nagging at him, telling him he doesn't want Ian here, but he can’t figure out why and Ian’s hand feels so good. Calming. Reassuring. And Mickey knows he feels safe.</p><p>“Hey,” Ian almost whispers. “Mickey, you and I had an argument in the garage. I forgot my phone and I came back to get it.” Mickey is caught in Ian’s eyes and he is wrapping himself around every word that comes out of the redhead’s mouth. “I found you laying on the floor, shivering.”</p><p>When Ian says the word “shivering”, Mickey looks down at his body that Ian has cocooned in a pile of clothing and blankets. He starts to feel the weight of the covers and the occasional jerking movements of his muscles as they start to thaw. He looks back up at Ian quizzically. </p><p>“You had to have been there on the cement for at least an hour,” Ian tells Mickey, removing his hand and sitting cross-legged on the floor. “Being half naked and kinda wet probably didn’t help.” He sighs deeply and Mickey sees this look on Ian’s face. This look. A look so soft and honest. Ian’s look… And he really sees Ian. Not like the seeing he’s been doing or even the seeing he did many years ago. For a moment in a passed-out-from-a-panic-attack-and-possibly-having-hypothermia haze Mickey really sees Ian. Ian who is in front of him. Ian who is a man. Ian the parolee. The felon. Ian who had been through things Mickey couldn’t even begin to articulate or think about because they made his chest want to cave in. Ian who is <em> now </em>. </p><p>Mickey feels the now familiar lump in his throat and something pushing on it, bubbling up and he knows—he just fuckin’ knows—that it is a cry. No, worse. It's a sob. His chest is pushing up a wave that makes Mickey feel like everything is going to come gushing out of him at any moment.</p><p>“It’s okay.” Ian looks at Mickey, holding his gaze and with the most heartfelt eyes he leans in and says, “Mickey, it’s okay. You’re okay.”</p><p>And Mickey believes him. He’s soothed by Ian’s words and the wave subsides in his chest, allowing his recent passenger in his throat to calm the fuck down and relax. Mickey becomes aware of the long stuttered breath he's pushing out of his lungs half way through to exhalation, and at the end of it he closes his eyes slowly and feels a stillness in his body and mind. He starts to drift back off.</p><p>“Hey, no.” Ian rises to his knees and gently shakes Mickey’s shoulder. “Mickey, you gotta stay awake. Need to make sure you don’t have a concussion. Okay?”</p><p>Mickey’s eyes flutter open and he nods his head, still finding it impossible to speak.</p><p>“I know I’m not your favorite person, but you need someone to help you right now. I was an EMT before I went in.” Ian seems to be pleading his case, which somewhat confuses Mickey since he is already agreeing to Ian making sure he wasn’t concussed. “So, I know what I’m doing. Can I help you? Will you let me help? And as soon as I’m sure you’re okay, I’ll go. I’ll leave you alone.”</p><p>Mickey’s mouth feels dry, but he parts his lips, making great effort to talk. “I—Ian,” Mickey lets out the word in a few gentle puffs of air.</p><p>“Yeah, Mickey. I’m here." Ian is searching the face of the man lying in front of him, but Mickey can only stare at Ian with a look that is a combination of bewilderment and discomfort with a small splash of some type of relief. "Is it okay?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Mickey sighs, nodding his head as he speaks.</p><p>“Okay,” Ian’s lips transform into something that isn’t quite a smile, but it isn’t a frown. It’s too sad to be either, but it's hitting Mickey in the chest. “I think we’ll wait for you to sit up, but you seem like you are warming up. I’m gonna make some hot tea.”</p><p>“I don’t—”</p><p>“I have some down in my locker. I’m gonna put water on to boil and go get it, okay.”</p><p>Mickey nods again. The whole scene is surreal, but at the same time it feels normal. His brain is just having a hard time connecting why it’s okay for Ian to be there. To be taking care of him. And for Mickey to be not only okay with it, but secure with it. Mickey doesn’t think he should feel this way, but he has no resistance and no motivation to feel otherwise.</p><p>Ian is gone and back in thirty seconds, not even enough time for the water to boil, but he keeps himself busy by finishing his first aid on Mickey’s head.</p><p>“What?” Mickey gestures up with his eyes and eyebrows towards the top of his head, which hurts to do and he winces in pain. </p><p>“Easy there.” Ian gives a kind smile. “You hit your head when you passed out. It actually doesn’t look bad. Doesn’t need stitches or anything, but you have a goose egg and it’s pretty scraped up. I cleaned it and put a bandage on it. But wanna make sure you don’t have a concussion. I thought about calling 9-1-1.”</p><p>“No,” Mickey says resolutely. “No hospital.” His voice is rough and weary.</p><p>“Well, let’s make sure you’re okay.” Ian's voice is low and smooth, using a tone he imagines he learned from being an EMT.</p><p>Ian makes Mickey’s tea and sits it on the found-on-the-side-of-the-road-nightstand.</p><p>“I’m gonna help you sit up.”</p><p>Some part of Mickey’s head tells him to resist, but the other tells him he’s an idiot and needs to let Ian help him. Luckily this time the gruffer, self-deprecating part wins.</p><p>Ian pulls back the covers and Mickey sees that Ian has not only finished dressing him, but he's bundled Mickey up like a first grader going out to play in the snow. He looks up at Ian, furrowing his brow as much as his injury will allow him.</p><p>“You were shivering and I had to get your body temperature up,” Ian tells him in an even tone.</p><p>Ian sits him up. He takes a light from his phone and shines it in Mickey’s eyes.</p><p>“What the Hell, Gallagher,” Mikey croaks.</p><p>“I’m checking your light sensitivity.” Ian continues to do little tests and ask lots and lots of questions. Are you dizzy? Are you nauseous? Can you stand? What day is it? </p><p>“Jesus,” Mickey lets out an exasperated sigh. “I’m fine.” He looks at Ian, unsure of what else to say. Mickey is starting to feel like himself again, he is embarrassed, and he isn’t sure what’s supposed to happen next. </p><p>Ian stands from the crouching position he had been in and hands him his tea that has cooled down enough that he is able to hold it and drink it down with no hesitation. Mickey lets the warm liquid flow over his tongue, the minty and floral taste unusual for his taste buds, but not unpleasant. It warms his throat and chest, down to his stomach and he thinks maybe he should keep some tea around or at least take Maria up on her offer next time.</p><p>“Mickey,” Ian softly commands Mickey's attention. “You're not fine. And I think it’s my fault.”</p><p>“What?” Mickey is dumbfounded and doesn’t know what to say. Part of him wants to agree with Ian, but something stops him, and he sits in silence instead.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Mickey. I’m not trying to hurt you.” Ian shakes his head. “You had an anxiety attack, right?”</p><p>Mickey looks down, confused and then looks up quickly, which doesn’t feel good on his head. “How do you know that?”</p><p>“I—I called Rita-Mae,” Ian admits reticently.</p><p>“What?” Mickey says and it is more of a whine than anything else.</p><p>“I’m sorry.” Ian’s eyes are downcast. “I wasn’t sure what to do. I checked your pulse and all that and put my flannel on you, got you up here, but I just—” Ian seems to be at a loss.</p><p>“And she told you?” Mickey looks at him, wanting Ian to look him in the eye, which the younger man does with great hesitation. Mickey is surprised he isn’t angry. He’s not sure why he isn’t. Maybe he’s still recovering or maybe he does have a concussion ‘cos he isn’t mad that Ian called Rita-Mae or that Rita-Mae obviously told Ian something about his anxiety attacks, and he’s pretty fuckin’ sure he should be.</p><p>“She told me that it was probably an anxiety attack and that I should use my judgement since I used to be an EMT,” Ian says quietly, looking guilty and tired. “And she asked why I was calling her if I had already moved you up here.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Mickey says flatly, looking away from Ian and into his cup that now only contains a soggy tea bag.</p><p>“Yeah. And I’m not sure I used my best judgement.” Ian sighs. “If I had been working you would have been at a hospital by now. But—” He shakes his head and finally sits in the found-on-the-side-of-the-road-chair.</p><p>“What?” Mickey asks, looking at Ian’s eyes that are having a hard time maintaining contact with him. </p><p>“But, for whatever reason, my instinct was to pick you up and take—” Ian lets out a ragged breath. “Fuck, Mickey, I just wanted to take care of you. Make sure you’re okay.” He runs his hands through his thick red locks. “But you’re not okay.”</p><p>Mickey looks at him, starting to feel naked again despite God knows how many layers on his body. Ian is in his room. He’s sitting right in front of him. Talking to him. Confessing something. And Mickey doesn’t know how to feel.</p><p>“Ian, I’m okay.” Mickey isn’t sure why he feels the need to console the other man, but it comes out without him realizing it until the words have already left his lips.</p><p>“No, you’re not.” Ian raises his voice, but quickly lowers his head and lets out another long breath. “Mickey, you’re not okay and it’s my fault. You been having anxiety attacks and I’m gonna bet it’s ‘cos of me. ‘Cos I’m here. And I’m so sorry.” Ian is shaking his head slowly and his eyes look glassy.</p><p>“Don’t,” Is all Mickey can say, not wanting Ian opening up this truth and laying it before them.</p><p>“No, I’m pretty sure that’s true.” Ian frowns and looks directly at Mickey. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Coming here. I don’t want to hurt you.” His voice cracks like a thirteen year old boy.</p><p>They are both quiet. Mickey can’t argue with him. Any argument he comes up with sounds juvenile and silly. So he sits there, blue eyes wide and expectant.</p><p>“But I still need to work and I need to learn.” Ian seems to start pleading his case again. “And I have to keep learning from everyone, that includes you. So we have to be around each other. Right?” Ian asks.</p><p>Mickey feels put on the spot. A decision, an agreement? He wasn’t sure how to do any of that right now, so he nods his head.</p><p>“But I'll respect your space. I’ll try to stay out of your way.” Ian smiles sadly. “Maybe tomorrow or when you’re feeling better we can talk about rules for using the garage after hours. So you're comfortable.”</p><p>Mickey then understood what they were talking about and he remembered the apprenticing. But he didn’t feel the level of anger he had felt before. He just mostly started to feel a little numb, a little sad, but mostly exhausted.</p><p>“Yeah, okay,” Mickey agrees, locking eyes with Ian, who looks sad and beaten down. </p><p>They sit in oddly comfortable silence for a while. Ian makes Mickey another cup of tea and plays on his phone. Mickey mostly stares into space and occasionally looks at the redhead, who isn’t paying any attention to him. And he isn’t sure why that hurts, but it does.</p><p>After what has probably been an hour or so, Ian gets up to leave, head hanging down and Mickey wants to say something to him, wants to comfort him. Wants to tell him it’s alright. But it’s not alright and he says nothing.</p><p>Ian turns to him. “I think you’re gonna be okay, but if you start to feel nauseous or dizzy, you need to go to urgent care, okay?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Mickey nods. “I—I will.”</p><p>“Oh, and Rita-Mae said for you not to come to work tomorrow. She said you can text her if you want, but to take the day off.”</p><p>“Fuck,” Mickey breathes out.</p><p>Ian gives Mickey one last soft, sad smile, a little wave and walks out the door.</p><p>And Mickey feels lost again. <em> How is every day the longest day ever? </em> He doesn’t understand, and feels far away from himself, from everything really. He looks at the clock and is shocked to see it is only ten-thirty at night. He picks up his phone to text Rita-Mae, but decides against it; Ian gave him her message already. Texting her would only irritate her. He’ll text her in the morning, acknowledging that he was following directions at least.</p><p>Mickey is tired, so tired. His body and brain. He has never felt so many emotions and had those emotions affect his body in such an intense way—maybe ever. He really can't process what has happened with Ian. Or the memory their earlier argument had drudged up. Mickey can't stop and put it all together or unravel it, whichever direction it is going. Sleep seems like the best option, but he gets up and strips off some of the layers of clothing and walks around a little to make sure he was, indeed, okay. </p><p>Mickey sits by his window that overlooks the alley and smokes a cigarette, pulling the thick button up shirt more tightly around him, more for comfort than warmth. He looks down at it and realizes he’s still wearing Ian’s flannel. Ian’s flannel is what is wrapped around him, securing him. He snuffs out his cigarette and throws himself on his bed, thoughts swirling in his brain and feelings dancing in his chest. It feels like overload, and all he can think to do is shut down. And that’s exactly what he does, falling into a deep sleep, leaving the memories, thoughts, realizations and fuckin’ feelings behind for now.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for reading everyone. This was a long one!</p><p>I wanted to mention that in the flashback Mickey has with the feds, I realize for what Terry's offenses are any number of federal agencies could have been involved from the FBI to the ATF, but instead of battling out jurisdiction in my head I just went to the federal prosecutor.</p><p>I'm sure this chapter answered some vague questions, but opened up even more. As I've said before, we're going at Mickey's pace and this where he's at right now. </p><p>Chapter 5 will be up on the 27th. 😁</p><p>Thanks again for reading along!</p><p>💖,</p><p>Chat Noir</p><p>P.S. Is the cursed end note still there 👇🏻? I can't bear to look.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mickey wakes up to his alarm, his head pounding and a dull, heavy pain in his chest. His mouth is dry and his whole body aches, most likely from laying half naked crumpled on the floor for who knows how long. He grabs his phone and texts Rita-Mae.</p><p><b>Mickey</b>: Got your message.</p><p>
  <em> And I also know you told Ian I've been freakin' out. </em>
</p><p><b>Mickey</b>: I'll see you in the morning before I head out with Audre.</p><p>Mickey doesn't really expect a response, but his phone dings and there's a reply. </p><p><b>Boss</b>: Good</p><p>He turns the ringer off and lays on his back, looking up at the gray ceiling, wishing he knew how to feel. Wishing he understood what was happening to him. Wishing he wasn't thinking about Ian. But he can't stop thinking about Ian. And he wants to be mad. Wants some of that righteous anger back that he has been wearing like armor since Ian arrived, or really it seems he has been wearing it much longer than that. </p><p>His anger that often protected him, but sometimes caused ruin, was always incredibly heavy to carry around. But he did because he didn't know any other way. </p><p>Mickey rolls onto his belly, determined to delay the day because he has absolutely no plans or anywhere to go. So he sleeps.</p><p>***</p><p>"Let’s just go to South Bend now." Mickey has called Audre, reasoning she is his only friend and maybe she can distract him or get him away from the garage, the redhead, himself. . .</p><p>After spending the day sleeping, smoking, reading, drawing, and blasting his head phones so he could drown out the sounds of the shop, he is fucking restless and bored. He has to admit feeling bored feels pretty good in comparison to other shit he's been feeling lately, but it still isn't the feeling from the other day that he wants back—that feeling he’s afraid is gone forever. </p><p>"And what? We won’t be able to get the part ‘til morning, Mickey. It's already three-thirty. They would be closed." Audre sounds amused but also confused.</p><p>"Yeah, I guess we would have to spend the night."</p><p>"What are you trying to do overnight in a motel?"</p><p>"I dunno." Mickey shrugs even though Audre can’t see him.</p><p>"You hittin’ on me, Milkovich?" Audre teases him, mirth in her voice.</p><p>"What?" He goes a little red even though he knows she's joking. "I thought you said you weren’t my type."</p><p>"I’m 100% sure I’m not."</p><p>"Yeah, what do you know about my type?" This conversation is silly and he is surprised by how easily he is able to participate in "playful banter" like this—something he never would have been comfortable with before.</p><p>Audre snorts a laugh on the other end of the phone. "Well, first of all, I’m pretty sure I have too much vagina for you." Mickey can hear her laughter and he can practically see her throwing her head back enjoying her own words. </p><p>"What?" Mickey's eyes are wide and he's holding his breath. He isn't sure why this is such a big deal, but it is. Trying to figure out how to act, how to put up a protest without protesting too much, but he doesn’t need to because Audre is done with the whole conversation after giving herself a good laugh.</p><p>“Alright, Mickey.” Audre sounds like she’s smiling. “I’ll meet you at the shop at seven-thirty. Yeah?”</p><p>Mickey breathes out, relieved. “Yeah,” he agrees and they say their goodbyes.</p><p>He isn’t satisfied at all, if anything he is unsettled and crawling out of his skin after that conversation. And restless. So fucking restless. </p><p>Then his mind turns and he starts to think about the fact that Ian was in the shop last night after hours. In his sanctuary, and that he was working with plans to apprentice with the mechanics—apprentice with <em> him </em>. </p><p>Mickey feels his hands forming into fists and his teeth grinding against each other. There it is. There’s that righteous indignation, that holier than thou anger. So precious. So sacred. That anger that burns deep in him and feels like part of his soul. It’s back and he welcomes it. Is relieved by it. Feels whole.</p><p>Fueled by his reclaimed fury, Mickey quickly puts on his boots, slips on a T-shirt and practically sprints down the stairs. He marches across the garage floor, ignoring Damon saying “Whatsup?” and Enzo sneering at him, ignoring Ian’s wide eyes and the unusual Jonesy sighting, and stomps right into Willie’s office, looking for a fight.</p><p>***</p><p>Other than the tense argument that Mickey had with Willie the week before, where Mickey apologized and then withdrew his apology, settling for contempt and anxious disgust instead, Mickey and Willie had never had a fight. In the year that Mickey had been working for Willie, been mentored by Willie, been adopted into Willie’s family, they had never actually gone at it. And although Mickey could feel that aggression boiling in his gut, he had no intention of becoming violent—not with his body anyway. But his mind is swirling with thoughts that are laced with cyanide and he is ready to hurl them Willie’s way, willing at this moment to poison their relationship with little regard.</p><p>Mickey barges into the shop office to find Rita-Mae leaning over Willie's shoulder looking at what is probably an inventory list. They both look up at Mickey in unison, but Rita stands up straight with a disapproving glare and crosses her arms in front of her. <em> What are you doing in here, Milkovich </em>? is seething from her eyeballs, and it makes Mickey shrink slightly.</p><p>"Mickey!" Willie smiles, entirely looking too happy to see him, which throws Mickey off. "How are you, ma' boy? I heard you weren’t feeling well." Willie leans in. "You doin' okay?"</p><p>All of a sudden Mickey's tongue-tied, Willie's genuine concern and consideration confusing him, muddying the purity of his anger. He wants to be angry, wants to feel that heat, that rage. Wants to direct his feelings somewhere, but he is so fucking sick of all of his feelings. <em> Fuck </em> . Mickey just wants to be fucking mad. Why can't everyone just let him be mad? <em> It's not fair. </em></p><p>Rita-Mae glares her way out the door, telling him he hasn't heard the last of her loud expressions. Mickey shivers a little as she passes. <em> Damn, she's scary sometimes. </em>He can't even remember her being semi-soft and maternal now. It's like that was a fucking fever dream.</p><p>Mickey shakes off the chills that have crawled up his spine and turns to look at Willie, whose pale blue eyes are gentle and kind, and Mickey hates it. He just fucking hates it. </p><p>"I need to talk to you." Mickey's voice is softer than he expects and he hates that, too. He just hates every-fucking-thing right now.</p><p>"Alright." Willie sits back, welcoming, open. "I've been hoping we could talk anyway. Come in. Have a seat.”</p><p>Mickey acquiesces and inches into the room, sitting down across from his employer, his leader, his current adversary. He feels his anger seeping out of him, and he is trying desperately to harness it, picturing Ian in the shop working after hours, apprenticing, doing something it took him <em> months </em> to do. But really, the more he thinks about it, the more he tries to regain his indignation and precious anger, the more it slips through his fingers. Like water, closing his fist only to have it flow out of his hand. And he is left with a pain in his chest and a lump in his throat, and...his <em> fucking feelings </em> . His other fucking feelings, the ones that anger is supposed to protect, to shield. <em> Fuck </em>.</p><p>Mickey is dejected, he is betrayed, he is despondent, and just fucking hurt. And he doesn’t know what to say. He hates how every single one of those things <em> feel </em>.</p><p>“Hey, Mick.” Willie leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees so he can look Mickey in the eyes. “Talk to me. I know you have things going on. You’re not yourself, and you’re barely talking to me. We gotta get past some of this, kid.”</p><p>“I’m not a fucking kid.” Mickey is immediately regretful. He <em> sounds </em> like a fucking kid. Jesus does he ever. Childlike, pouty, whining almost—everything but stomping his feet.</p><p>Willie lets out a deep sigh. “I know you’re not a kid, but I’m almost forty years older than you and considering you have been like a son to Ana and me, I think I’ve earned the right to call you that. You’re like one of my kids. And we gotta fucking work this out. Need to work out what’s going on with you.”</p><p>“Maybe you need to work out what’s going on with you.” Mickey shoots up, defensive and pained. “Maybe you need to work out what’s going on here at the shop. And—and…” Mickey lets hot air escape through his nostrils, unable to say what he wants to say. And Ian. And Ana. What about Ian? What about Ana?</p><p>“Okay, Mickey.” Willie throws his hands in the air. “What’s going on here at the shop? Tell me that? What do we need to work out here?”</p><p>“Why—” Mickey clears his throat, finding words so fucking hard. “Why are you letting Ian start apprenticing? He hasn’t even been on the job for two weeks. It took me months for you to let me do that. Why are you giving him special treatment? Hmm?” Mickey arches his eyebrows, biting his bottom lip, some of that beautiful anger coming back to him, snaking its way around the hurt and rejection, sealing it in, allowing it to hide again.</p><p>An exasperated breath leaves Willie as his shoulders slump. “Look, Mickey, I was going to talk to you about this. We have to make some changes around here. I can't keep doing this. I can’t keep coming here everyday, working. My hands are shot, I can't fuckin' see, my knees ache even when it's not colder than a witch's tit… I can’t even work on the cars without help with every fucking thing. And the grind of dealing with the business part of it, the taxes and payroll and all this shit… ” Willie waves his hand in the air dismissively. “I’m tired.”</p><p>“What are you saying?” Mickey isn’t expecting to hear any of this and isn’t sure where it’s coming from.</p><p>“I wanted to sit you down and talk to you about this first, but we haven’t had time and then the last few weeks things have been off between us. I didn’t know how to talk to you. But I gotta change things up because I need to sorta—I dunno—retire I guess.”</p><p>“What?” Mickey sits back. “That’s—retire? But what’s that got to do with Ian and you moving him up like that, huh?”</p><p>“Listen,” Willie says, his tone a little more aggressive. “I need Enzo to help with running the business part—”</p><p>“That fucking guy? Are you serious? And you trust him with that?” Mickey doesn't want to hear more. He interrupts Willie with a look of disgust and surprise on his face. “That guy? He’s a fucking felon.” In the back of his mind he knows that's a ridiculous argument, but he can't stop himself, and he feels like he is drowning in thought.</p><p>“We’re <em> all </em> felons, Mickey. And he did time for assault not stealing or drugs.” </p><p>“Oh, okay. Great.” Mickey crosses his arms in front of him, looking away, further assuming the position of the child in the room.</p><p>“You went to prison for attempted murder, and your rap sheet is a mile long.” Willie shrugs at Mickey.</p><p>“It was aggravated assault. And I just don’t like that guy. He’s an asshole, a shitty mechanic, and you’re gonna trust him with the shop?”</p><p>“He’s been working for me for six years and he’s been learning the business. Going over books with me and all that stuff for months. And he’s been taking business classes for the last two years.”</p><p>“Have you been planning this that long?” Mickey’s voice has gotten shrill, he is feeling hurt again. Hurt that Willie didn’t share this with him. Hurt that there is yet one more thing about someone close to him that he didn’t know. Something important. Like they had been keeping a secret from him. All of them.</p><p>“Yes and no,” Willie says. He runs his calloused hands through his hair. “Enzo is a subpar mechanic, and the business is more appealing to him. He’s good at it, understands it. I’m not sure how you haven’t noticed that he’s been doing more office work in the last month, but he has. Having him in the office is a better place for him than in the garage."</p><p>“What about Rita-Mae? She’s been here, what? Twenty years?” Mickey harnesses some pseudo indignation for her.</p><p>“Yeah, seventeen actually. Been here from the beginning. She was twenty years old, younger than you.” Willie sits back, crosses his arms in front of him, smiling, obviously reflecting on a time and a Rita-Mae Mickey can’t even imagine. “Rita doesn't want anything to do with this, with the business. And I need her to run the garage. She doesn't want to do anything but be a mechanic anyway. I’m lucky she puts up with your stupid asses, and she’s reluctantly agreed to watch over Enzo just in case. But she’s gonna be a gearhead until her hands fall off and she can’t walk anymore. She’s honestly the best mechanic I’ve ever had.” He smiles again.</p><p>“That’s great. I’m glad she’s the best mechanic you’ve ever had. That’s just fucking peachy." Mickey’s tone is sarcastic and he is sitting back, chewing on his bottom lip, causing it to swell.</p><p>"Look, Enzo isn't really going to be running the overall business anyway. Everything gets my approval, and one of the grandkids is eventually taking over.”</p><p>"Who?"</p><p>"Julian. You know he's a mechanic and is finishing up business school. Didn't want any favors from me, but he'll be ready eventually to take over."</p><p>Mickey looks down thoughtfully, feeling like Julian would be a good person to work for from what he knows of him. "Yeah, okay, but now what? What the hell does this all mean now?”</p><p>“Mickey.” Willie leans forward again. “Jonesy's obviously phasing out. I’m pretty sure he’s gonna be gone in the next two months. And Morales is a fucking pothead and feels perfectly comfortable in the position he’s in. He's made zero effort to do anything else for the last two and half years." Willie sits back and sighs, seeming exhausted all of a sudden. "There were four mechanics when you started working here, Mickey. I didn't need another mechanic. Not to mention you weren't exactly open and friendly at first.” </p><p>“Excuse the fuck out of me. I guess Ian is just a lot more <em> friendly </em>.” Mickey bites out the words.</p><p>“Would you shut up and listen?” Willie is obviously getting tired of Mickey’s attitude, but Mickey just rolls his eyes. “When Jonesy finally leaves I’ll be down to three mechanics, and with Enzo handling books, ordering, inventory… it’ll be at two, maybe two and a half. I need Ian to start learning so he can start classes sooner rather than later.” </p><p>“Unfuckingbelievable.”</p><p>“It's not special treatment. It’s not what you think, Mickey. I need this. Ian and I—”</p><p>“I don't want to hear about you and fucking Ian.” There it is. There’s that anger. The welcome fire in his belly crawls up his neck.</p><p>“Mickey—” Willie holds up his hands.</p><p>“No. Fuck this.” Mickey stands up. “You want me to train him, fine, but I'm not gonna listen to you talk about him.”</p><p>"Mickey, calm down. You have it all wrong." Willie moves towards him. "Listen. Why don't you come over for dinner? Ana's been asking for you. She wants to see you. We want you to come over. Spend some time with the family."</p><p>"Are you serious right now?" Mickey feels the heat rising further, snaking its way up his face and into his brain. His eyes are burning and his throat is tight. "How can I face her right now?"</p><p>Willie can only look at Mickey, his mouth hanging open like he wants to say something. And Mickey feels like this is a turning point, or the point of no return, whatever. Some fucking point. He isn't sure, but he thinks this is the point where Willie can either figure out how to convince Mickey that everything is gonna be ok and that he should come see Ana. Or it is the point where he has to figure out how to explain to Ana why Mickey is absent. But Mickey doesn’t really think he can convince him. And he is positive that if he tells Ana anything it will be bullshit.</p><p>But Willie says nothing. His eyes turn cloudy in front of Mickey and the older man swallows hard, puts his hands in his pockets and looks away from Mickey, looks down. Maybe to hide tears, maybe just 'cos he can't see his guilt reflected in Mickey's eyes any longer. He isn't sure. And at this moment he doesn't care. </p><p>Mickey turns to walk away, intending to leave without another word, but before he even realizes it, he turns back around and words fly out of his mouth he has no control over. "Whatever is going on, I certainly hope Ian doesn't think he has to do you any favors in order to keep his job. 'Cos that right there would be a serious problem." He isn't sure why it comes out like a threat, but it does and Willie's eyes dart up and become wide, mouth gaping open. "A real problem." </p><p>Mickey bucks up his chin and for a second he’s the Mickey that just got released from prison. The Mickey that has lived life in cages. The Mickey that didn't think twice about cracking skulls if it was warranted and even when it wasn't. That Mickey was standing in front of Willie like nothing in the last year had ever happened. </p><p>But Mickey is cool, he is measured. His breathing is calm and he maintains a steely glare. The menace laced words had rolled off his tongue, and felt right. He feels armored. He feels tough. And nothing can knock him down at this moment. Then he turns around and walks out of the office, leaving the door wide open.</p><p>Mickey struts through the shop, nostrils flaring and arms swinging by his side. He walks past Ian, who is carefully clearing a set of tools, but Mickey doesn't make eye contact, he can’t at this moment.</p><p>"Mickey." Ian's voice is behind him and he sounds different, sounds familiar. His voice has a tone of desperation, but also vulnerability. “Mickey, please.”</p><p>Mickey halts. It feels like the words are grabbing him. He doesn’t know how to feel. Doesn’t know what to do. He turns and glances at Ian briefly, gesturing ever so slightly with his head toward the alley. </p><p>What is he doing? Why is he going to the alley with this guy? He feels like he's losing it. His feelings colliding and churning into something so messy, he can't figure it out.</p><p>Ian follows Mickey to the alley and immediately hands Mickey a cigarette, lighting up both Mickey's and his own without ever making eye contact. They are silent and tense, and Mickey feels nothing but heat coming off of Ian.</p><p>“So—” Mickey clears his throat. “I, uh, guess I need to thank you for helping me last night, but I need to make it crystal clear that this changes nothing. I was fucked up and you helped me, but we’re not friends, and—”</p><p>“Mickey, fuck, I know you don’t want to be friends with me.” Ian turns to look at him. “I know you don’t want anything to do with me. I’m pretty sure that you just think I’m a fucking whore and that’s what I’m doing here. Right?”</p><p>Mickey is shocked by Ian’s words and his mouth goes dry. He can’t speak.</p><p>“Yeah, alright.” Ian throws his back against the wall again. “You think I’m here to fuck up your life and whore around with the boss. But I don’t want to fuck up your life and I’m not a fucking whore.”</p><p>“Not anymore?” It slips out of Mickey’s mouth before he can stop himself. A piece of Ian’s past. Knowledge of his history, something long since buried that Mickey probably wasn’t supposed to know, falls out of his mouth and lands on Ian’s chest.</p><p>“I—” Ian shakes his head. “How—fuck you, Mickey,” he says quietly.</p><p>“Ian—” Mickey regrets it, deeply regrets it, but can’t take it back. This person who is familiar, but feels like a stranger, yet also feels like his past, and he probably knows more about Ian than he wants to. And Ian probably knows more about him than he wants Ian to know. </p><p>
  <em> This is a fucking mess. </em>
</p><p>“Just shut the fuck up.” Ian takes a drag of his cigarette. “I need this job and I’m not going anywhere. So we have to work together. You got rules for me being here after hours, then let me know what they are.”</p><p>“Uh, okay.” Mickey’s voice is shaky. </p><p>“Write ‘em down, text them to me. Whatever.” Ian throws his cigarette down and stomps on it with more force than is necessary and turns to face Mickey. His eyes fierce and penetrating. “But if they're fuckin' ridiculous I’m gonna tell you to fuck right off.” Ian doesn’t wait for an answer. He shoves his hands in his pockets and turns to storm off. Without turning around he says, “I’m staying late tonight. It’s four-thirty right now, so you got about half an hour to figure that shit out.”</p><p>And with that he’s gone, leaving Mickey drained and feeling like a piece of shit. Like a piece of Southside trash.</p><p>***</p><p>Mickey is standing in the alley again, smoking, waiting for Audre. Feeling like he doesn't know how to feel. He isn’t going into the garage. He doesn’t want to be in the garage. Doesn’t want to face Rita-Mae, or Willie, or Ian. Doesn’t want to look at any of them, feel their judgement, or have any feelings towards them. He just wants to get in Audre’s car and have her drive him too fast out of this fucking city—out of this state.</p><p>He’s antsy as fuck and so fucking tired. He’d stayed up late, agonizing over all of his decisions yesterday. The things he said. The way he acted. And he kind of hates himself for it. His anger towards Willie, that feeling of betrayal and hurt was still there. And his anger towards Ian popping up out of nowhere seemingly disturbing his peace was back, but he also was angry at himself because he was 99.9% sure he was handling everything all wrong. </p><p>He had managed to go the day without an anxiety attack, but only because he had masked it all, cloaked it with a blanket of anger and spite. And it felt fucking awful.</p><p>Mickey had written up the stupid rules for Ian and shoved them through the slates in Ian’s locker. He put his cell phone number at the bottom and told him to only text him if he had a problem with any of it. No texts came through and he supposed that meant his terms were reasonable, but he still felt uneasy.</p><p>The list, however, was simple:</p><ol>
<li>Don’t stay past 7:30pm.</li>
<li>Don’t come anywhere near my place.</li>
<li>Make sure all the doors are fucking locked while you are in here and when you leave.</li>
<li>Don’t look up at my window. Ever.</li>
<li>Don’t bring anyone else in here.</li>
<li>If you see me for any reason after hours, that isn’t an invitation to talk.</li>
<li>And try not to be so fucking loud.</li>
</ol><p>After he finished the list he had called Iggy, who was surprised to hear from him so soon after they had seen each other, but Mickey couldn’t stay at the garage while Ian was working. Couldn't run the risk. </p><p>The risk of what? Seeing Ian through the window? Watching his body move around the shop? Entertaining thoughts that made him feel like he was punched in the gut? Did he run the risk of filling back up with irrational anger and storming down to the garage floor? And picking a fight or saying something hurtful or… ending up chest to chest, bodies pressed together, hot breath on his face? </p><p>All of it was risky. Mickey being in his room with Ian being down in the garage at this moment in time—when Mickey can't understand or control his feelings—is risky. </p><p>So Mickey had called his brother and had him meet him at a bar nearby that served decent food, but watered down drinks. He settled into a conversation that was more an Iggy-Milkovich-mouth-full-of-food monologue and less of a back and forth exchange. And Mickey was thankful for it, not really knowing what he would say anyway.</p><p>Mickey had almost reluctantly been careful not to drink too much, wanting to be crisp for the road the next day, but also wanting the alcohol to numb him, anesthetize him so he <em> could </em> sleep. </p><p>He kept his eye on the clock, trying to stretch out his visit with Iggy as far as he could so he didn't run the risk of crossing paths with Ian. But at seven o'clock, Iggy called it, saying he had a "meeting"—whatever the fuck that meant—and needed to run. </p><p>As much as Mickey wanted to ignore it, he was pretty sure he knew what it meant, and he tried not to think about it—the idea of making a drug deal or buying guns or casing a mini-mart hitting him hard in the face. Like a time machine, Iggy's "meeting" transported to a time when he was given marching orders and he better be a good soldier or he'd feel the wrath. He never had a choice. Never could say "no". Always had to obey no matter how dangerous, degrading, demoralizing, or despicable it was. Because if he didn't… well… the consequences were too steep, and he couldn't risk it. Couldn't risk what Terry would do.</p><p>Mickey could hear his voice, the gravel in it, the grit. Every word a growl as his face scowled and his fists clenched. He barked at Mickey like a rabid dog, snarling, spitting, and baring his teeth. </p><p>"Mickey!" And then there was Iggy in front of him, calling his name, looking afraid. "Hey, where'd you go?"</p><p>Mickey felt like the wind was knocked out of him and he realized he was taking quick shallow breaths and was running the risk of hyperventilating. Mickey grabbed the table in front of him, gripping it, feeling the slick cool veneer that covered it. He made an effort to push each breath a little further down, pulling air in through his nose and slowing down the release. Mickey felt himself calm, his body relaxing. Suddenly the grip he had on the table became uncomfortable and he slowly released it. </p><p>Then he looked up. And, again, there was Iggy, his eyes wide, not sure of what had happened.</p><p>"Are you okay, man?" Iggy asked.</p><p>"Yeah." Mickey puffed out his answer, and he was starting to feel his body again, some tingling in his fingers and toes and in his face. "Sorry." Mickey shook his head.</p><p>"Don't be sorry, just tell me what happened. What was that?" Iggy's voice was low and soft, soothing, which was a huge deviation from the norm.</p><p>"I—uh," Mickey was struggling for the words and decided to just draw on Maria and explain it to Iggy exactly like she had once explained it to him </p><p>"So, I have, um…" But he was afraid and stuttered over his words. </p><p>"Mickey, come on. It's ok. You can talk to me. I'm not gonna be an ass. I promise. Just tell me."</p><p>Mickey let out a long breath. "Okay, I, uh, have anxiety. And sometimes I have attacks where I start to hyperventilate and my body goes numb. And sometimes I get stuck in a thought or a memory or even sometimes something that's in front of me. And I dissociate."</p><p>"What's that?"</p><p>"I like leave my body," Mickey told him, hoping he didn't sound crazy.</p><p>"You what?" Iggy sat back, looking confused, but not judgemental.</p><p>"My mind. It leaves my body and I get stuck or frozen. Sometimes I hyperventilate and sometimes what’s going on in my head is too much for my body to handle. So, sometimes… I pass out."</p><p>"Whaaaat?" Iggy was stupefied and sat with his mouth wide open.</p><p>"I mean I've only passed out a few times. Usually, I just feel like I can't breathe and my mind kinda spirals until I can get my breathing to normal and talk myself down."</p><p>"Fuck, Mickey." Iggy leaned in. "How long has this been happening?"</p><p>"Since like maybe a month or two after I got released." Mickey shrugged. "I have a therapist—"</p><p>"A what? No way."</p><p>"Yeah, man, she helps me. Taught me how to control it better. But it happens, and usually it seems like it comes out of nowhere."</p><p>"Why'd it happen just now?" </p><p>Iggy wanted to know and Mickey didn't want to tell him. Didn't want him to know that his mere mention of a meeting sent him back to the clutches of Terry Milkovich. He debated whether to be honest, but as he attempted to ground himself as best as he could, sitting in a seedy pub in Chicago across from his shaggy older brother, he realized that not being honest was probably gonna be harder in the long run.</p><p>“Uh, because you said you have a meeting. And it just kinda took me back to all the shit…” Mickey tried to keep eye contact with Iggy, but it was hard. It was really fucking hard because he felt like he was accusing his brother of something and he wasn’t. </p><p>“Mickey, I—” Iggy’s face dropped and he looked like he might cry.</p><p>“Iggy, it’s not your fault.” Mickey tries to smile to reassure his brother. “It happens all the time at the weirdest fucking times over the most ridiculous shit sometimes. And now with Ian working at the shop—” He stopped short, not sure why he said what he said. Mickey sat stiffly, hoping his brother wouldn't push him on it.</p><p>Iggy looked at his brother, considering him quietly. “Yeah, I could see that,” was all he said and Mickey was grateful. “I’m sorry, bro.”</p><p>“It's alright.” Mickey shrugged. “I’m working on it. Got tricks my shrink taught me that I try to use. I don’t know. But I’m tryin’.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Iggy nodded slowly, “it’s good. I’m glad you got someone to help you.” They sit quietly for a few seconds then Iggy leans forward, looking in Mickey’s eyes. “I’m really sorry for what Pops did to you, and if I could make it better I would.”</p><p>Mickey was touched and a weird feeling tickled his throat. A swell of genuine affection expanded inside of him and he wanted to reach out to his brother and hug him, but the effort it would have taken would make it awkward in the moment. </p><p>“Iggy, he hurt all of us.” Mickey gave a sad smile. “And I’m sorry too.”</p><p>“Thanks, Mick.” Iggy smiled back, and they nodded, acknowledging they had to get up and go. “You need a ride? You gonna be okay?”</p><p>“I’m fine, Ig.” Mickey patted Iggy's shoulder and his brother unexpectedly pulled Mickey in for a hug. It was only awkward at first because Mickey wasn’t expecting it, but he sunk into it because it felt good to have someone hug him. Someone who has known him his whole life. Someone who is his blood. And at that moment, Mickey was fine. He pulled back and looked at his brother. “I wanna walk. It’ll be good for me, and it’s close by.”</p><p>“You sure?” Iggy looked concerned, his brow furrowed and lips held tight.</p><p>“Iggy, I’m good.” Mickey smiled and slapped Iggy’s shoulder. “Thanks, man.”</p><p>They said their goodbyes and talked about meeting up maybe on Sunday or early next week to catch a Sox game and have a few beers. Mickey walked away feeling good again. Not worried about Gallagher or Willie or even the fact that he had a panic attack in a fucking dive in front of his brother, who he was just now getting to know again. He felt the foreign sensation of being calm and it centered in his solar plexus and flowed from there, down his body and to his legs and feet and toes. It flowed up and across his chest and out to his arms, his palms tingling, but fingers relaxed. The calm welled up to his neck and face and to the crown of his head. And Mickey could breathe. Every step he took increased the sensation, until he was light and airy.</p><p>He walked the few blocks, thinking about the trip with Audre the next day and what he was going to wear and what other treasures they might find digging around the pick ‘n’ pull. Mickey turned the corner and headed down the alley to the garage, the flood light in the back, shining down like a beacon. And out pops Ian, red hair blazing under the 150 watt incandescent light, looking tired, looking beat. Mickey looked down at his phone and saw it was 7:32. But he wasn’t upset. And he actually felt happy to see Ian. <em> Wanted </em>to see him. Wanted to apologize. Maybe try to talk.</p><p>“Hey,” Mickey said, about ten feet away so he didn’t scare him. </p><p>Ian froze, looking like he’d been caught.</p><p>“Leaving a little late, huh?” Mickey intended for it to sound light hearted, but it sounded accusatory instead.</p><p>“Mickey.” Ian froze, and then stood up straight, his tone cold. “I lost track of time. It won’t happen again.”</p><p>“It’s okay.” Mickey waved dismissively. “Listen, it’s not a big deal, okay?”</p><p>“No, we gotta have rules, right? I need to respect your space,” Ian said with no sarcasm or bite. He was just flat.</p><p>“Ian—” Mickey stepped closer.</p><p>“What, Mickey?” Ian took a step back, his jaw set and eyes intense. “What are you trying to do?”</p><p>Mickey wanted to apologize about earlier, about a lot of it, but wasn’t sure he could. He took too long to search for the words and Ian just looked at him and shook his head.</p><p>“That's what I thought.” Ian walked away without another word, leaving Mickey feeling cold and guilty. He tried to shrug off the feeling as he entered the garage and then up to his room, but his mood had crashed just as quickly as it had been lifted and he swallowed around the lump and tried not to cry, not because he didn’t want to cry, but because he didn’t have the strength for it.</p><p>***</p><p>That had been his night. Full of ups and downs and all arounds and now he is propped against the wall, praying no one comes out to check on him, bother him, just fuckin’ look at him. He just wants Audre to get there and get him the fuck away from all of that.</p><p>He can hear the roar of the engine before she even turns to pull into the alley. The Charger is a welcome sight and he can't help but smile because his crazy friend had gone and painted it bright ass orange just like the original. She had threatened to do it, but he hadn't taken her seriously. Yet there it is with two fat black racing stripes down the middle.</p><p>The car hums and he feels it in his chest. It feels warm and comforting, like a hug, and he's happy to see his friend—and Audre too. He had worked on it for two months under Willie's instruction, but had done most of the work on his own, and he feels connected to this car. She was the first project he had really dug into, gave some of  himself to, really took pride in.</p><p>Audre had stopped by regularly to check the progress and that was when they had started talking, feeling each other out, trying to figure out who this other person was and why it was so easy to talk to them. Mickey thinks it's entirely possible they were both a little unsure about the relationship they were forming. Audre didn't seem suspicious of people, but she also didn't seem to have a lot of people she was really close to, and he suspects he is actually special, just like she is to him.</p><p>And that car… Dodge Charger, eight cylinders powering raw steel. It hadn't been a full restoration, but still needed a fair amount of work. And he had poured himself into it, he’d fallen in love with not only the classic muscle car—all classic muscle cars—but also being a mechanic. Mickey is grateful for that. </p><p>So there she is. His first mechanical love. The car that awakened a passion he would have never known existed. And she was rolling down the alley in high impact hemi fucking orange with slick top, purring like a kitten. </p><p>"Get in," Audre yells over the engine. "What are you waiting for? I'm not opening the door for you, your majesty." She smiles and faces forward, knowing he's excited and he can see she's excited too.</p><p>Mickey jumps in the car and almost bounces on the black leather tucked interior. <em> Damn! Her auto body guy did a fuckin' phenomenal job. </em> The seats were supple and soft and they looked original; Mickey couldn't hide his excitement, twisting his body around to look in the back seat and then up at the ceiling. He feels like he's walked into a museum exhibit—or what he imagines that feels like—and he is just in awe.</p><p>"This is amazing, Audre." He finally makes eye contact and sees her proud smile. "Who did all this?"</p><p>Audre pops on her sunglasses as she hands him a cup of black coffee in a sealed mug. "I got a guy," she says. "You spill that in here and I'll cut you." And he's pretty sure she means it. "What the fuck happened to your face." Her face twists up looking at the goose egg on his head.</p><p>"Uh, it's nothin'" He waves her off.</p><p>Audre shrugs and looks around Mickey, and laughs. "We got an audience." She says as she leans back.</p><p>Mickey looks over and sees Damon and Enzo, staring, mouths open, practically drooling. Mickey lifts his two middle fingers and smiles, flipping them both off. Enzo returns that favor while Damon laughs, but then behind him he sees Ian, and Mickey puts his hands in his lap quickly. </p><p>They look at each other for a split second, but they are frozen in time. Ian doesn't frown or smile, he just looks. Ian looks at Mickey, and he feels like Ian is cutting through his armour, pulling it back to see him. And Mickey is laid bare. No one sees him like that. No one ever has, and he feels like he's allowing the boy with the green eyes and long legs to just… see him.</p><p>Then all of a sudden the car jerks forward, his head whips back, and Ian is no longer cutting him open.</p><p>***</p><p>The drive out of Chicago feels like a ride at an amusement park. Mickey and Audre are both giddy and full of excitement. And the car is beyond phenomenal.</p><p>It takes Mickey a few blocks, but he finally really looks at Audre instead of just ogling the inside of the Charger and he realizes she's dyed her hair bright ass orange to match the car.</p><p>"Are you serious?" Mickey laughs out loud.</p><p>"What?" She smiles, trying to feign innocence, but failing. "I thought it would make things more festive. And, besides, I haven't had orange hair in a while."</p><p>"I'm sure." Mickey smiles and lets out all the breath he realizes he had lodged deep in his lungs, having held it down there without knowing it since he'd seen Ian, Audre's ridiculousness allowing him to let it out.</p><p>They speculate what other things they may find at the pick 'n' pull and then realize they weren't completely prepared to tromp around a car graveyard like they should be. As it is they will have to wrap up the sure to be grimey and dusty part they are picking up in several tarps Audre brought and stick it carefully in her trunk. However, they agree they are going to look around anyway especially if the owner points them in the direction of any ‘70s muscle cars. </p><p>Mickey continues to admire the interior of the car, but when they hit the open road, he lays back and listens to the thrum of the engine as they speed down Interstate 90, feeling high, feeling elated.</p><p>"She purrs, doesn't she?" Audre breaks his trance.</p><p>"She does." He opens his eyes, and sounds wistful. "She sounds amazing."</p><p>"You did that, you know?"</p><p>"Did what?" He looks at her sideways.</p><p>"You made her sound like that. You made her <em> purr </em>," Audre says, keeping a steady eye on the road.</p><p>"Willie—"</p><p>"No," Audre cuts him off. "I know how much work he did or didn't do on this car. And I know what you did. Willie was <em> fixing </em> it, but you… you poured your heart into this car. And it shows, Mickey."</p><p>Mickey is speechless, he feels his spirit lifting as the sincerity of Audre's words sink in. A sense of pride washes over him and at first he does what he always does when he starts to regard himself highly, he tries to push it back, tries to dampen his positivity towards himself. </p><p>He knows he does this because that was what he was taught. Don't ever think too highly of yourself because you are worthless. You ain't shit. You are human garbage. But he knows now. He knows none of that is true. </p><p>And he knows now what it feels like to have pride in his work; he's felt it before. Actually felt it with this sweet orange ride for the first time as he watched her drive out of the garage after they had completed work on her. </p><p>But this felt different, felt bigger. He wasn't just proud that he learned how to change a distributor cap or put a carburetor together or even made a car that didn't run before run again—it was the sum of all those parts, sure, but something more. Mickey was proud that he had a trade, a craft that was useful, but also something that could restore things that were beautiful and he was <em> good </em> at it. </p><p>Mickey was a good mechanic, who loved cars, and could make a former heap of junk <em> purr </em>. And that felt really fucking good.</p><p>"Thanks, Auds." Mickey smiles and turns his head to look at the window at the quickly passing landscape. </p><p>"For what?" </p><p>"It's gonna sound corny."</p><p>"Nah, you have to tell me for what."</p><p>"Uh, for believing in me, I guess."</p><p>"Mickey," Audre says his name, signaling for his undivided attention, not willing to share the spotlight with the scenery. </p><p>Mickey turns to look at her.</p><p>"It wasn't hard to believe in you." Audre keeps her eyes on the road for the most part, occasionally glancing at him peripherally. "I personally don't work on cars, but I know <em> how </em> to work on cars and I know when I see someone that not only knows what they are doing, but cares just a little bit more than the next guy—or gal. I watched you get more and more involved with her. Every time I stopped by you had more to tell me, more to show me, were so invested. There was no way you weren't gonna give this car everything she needed—everything you could." She trailed off a little and he could hear emotion in her voice that surprised him.</p><p>"You remind me of my baby brother." Audre took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "He and I worked on cars together when we were kids."</p><p>"With your dad?" Mickey asked.</p><p>Audre snorted a laugh. "No, we didn't have a dad—well we had dads, we all had one, but none of them were anywhere where we were." Audre shrugged </p><p>"Oh, sorry." Mickey felt bad </p><p>"Oh, God, don't be. Fuck 'em." She waved off with one of her hands. "We were better off without them. Every single one of 'em was a scumbag. Our mom made great choices. </p><p>"No, our mom taught us about cars. She loved them. Loves them. Anyway, he became a mechanic. Loved working on cars. Loved everything about cars. It was a beautiful thing to watch ‘cos it was the only time in his life where he was really confident or had any passion. He sucked at being around humans. Sucked at dealing with his emotions, but he was the fucking junk whisperer."</p><p>"He's not anymore?"</p><p>"He's in prison," Audre says in a blunt manner and it kinda knocks the wind out of Mickey.</p><p>"I'm sorry."</p><p>"Stop apologizing for everything." Audre laughs a little and gives him a sideways smile. "It's life, Mickey. He couldn't hold on to the passion and that beautiful gift he had because he couldn't handle every single fucking thing else required of him to be a human. Life had been too hard on him. I know that's true 'cos I saw it. Lived it with him. And he didn't believe in himself. At all. Didn't matter what I believed.</p><p>"You have that passion. I can see you have that mind too. You get better exponentially every day. So maybe me believing in you—and Willie and Rita-Mae and fucking Larry Seaver believing in you—helped boost you a little, but you gotta take it in, man. You gotta accept it. Believe in yourself. Let yourself be happy. Feel good. Be proud."</p><p>Audre shrugs again and then hesitates, but finally speaks. "I'm proud of you Mickey. I hope that's not weird. But I am. I want you to be proud of you, too."</p><p>Mickey sits silently for a minute, looking out the window, trying to absorb her words. Silence like this would be awkward with another person, but she somehow manages to make it feel normal. She isn't waiting for him to say anything or anticipating his words, she's just letting it be. And he thinks it must be a shrink trick, allowing for thoughtful reflection or some shit like that. </p><p>And her brother? Is it some kind of warning that he could end up back behind bars? Well, that really is always a possibility, isn't it? That he could end up back in prison if he doesn't keep on this path, if he deviates or strays? But he thinks it's something more. He thinks that maybe she really does think he is worthy of all of this and that he should be proud and that he should be fucking happy, and she just wants that for him. Probably because her brother couldn't have that, but probably also because he's her friend and she cares about him. </p><p>His heart beats hard in his chest and he lets out the air from his lungs, all of a sudden feeling like Mickey from two Mondays ago. He smiles softly and looks over at Audre.</p><p>"I'm glad you're proud of me. And—" he hesitates not sure if what he is about to say it's the right combination of words. "And I'm proud of me, too. So, thank you. For—"</p><p>"For?" Audre chances a full glance</p><p>"For believing in me and… being my friend." He looks down, a little bit embarrassed.</p><p>"Fuck," Audre laughs and smiles brightly. "Thank you, Mickey."</p><p>It was his turn now. "For what?"</p><p>"For being <em> my </em> fucking friend. Duh, motherfucker." </p><p>"I'm nothing special."</p><p>"Shut the fuck up. But you are. I don't have anyone like you in my life. I left all my family behind. I don't have anyone that understands the things you do. Like I said, you remind me of my baby brother. And I'm not trying to substitute him with you. You guys are plenty different. You have a grit he never had, for one. But you give me a friendship that is rare for someone like me. </p><p>"I'm surrounded by people who have Masters degrees and PhDs, most of whom never went hungry a day in their lives. My few good friends, I love them dearly and they are amazing people, but some shit they just don't get and that hurts. You get it—that life. That life that is the opposite of privilege. And I also like you as a person. So that helps." She laughs and Mickey does too. "Your friendship is fucking invaluable to me." </p><p>Audre is sincere, and Mickey is overwhelmed by emotion, never having ever had anyone tell him he was invaluable to them for any reason. He feels like he wants to cry and the lump is swelling in his throat again.</p><p>"You too." Mickey's voice cracks. "Our friendship… It's… yeah. You too." It's all he can say, but he sees Audre gets it and he's thankful to her for so many reasons.</p><p>The car is quiet again, and they both enjoy the roar of the engine and the whooshing sound of mile markers and other random things on the side of the road. Audre has Mickey pull out her phone and put on a playlist she made for the trip. She makes a joke about one of the songs that was on a mixed tape her first girlfriend made for her in college that he doesn't quite get. He doesn't laugh, but looks at her with a furrowed brow and then she laughs. </p><p>"So you're gay?" Mickey asks her, surprising himself, and kinda wishing he hadn't.</p><p>"Yeah," Audre shrugs. "I mean, I guess if we have to use labels I'm technically bi, but I'm not a big fan of that, so I just say I'm queer."</p><p>"Whaddya mean ‘technically’?" Mickey laughs.</p><p>"I find men attractive sometimes, I've had a few relationships… you know, sex and stuff—especially when I was younger and partying a lot…" Audre shrugs and lets out a small laugh that eases Mickey. "But almost all of my serious relationships were with women. I'm more attracted to women. I prefer women. So… I just hate labels. I feel put in a box. I don't like that. I'm queer. Queer as fuck."</p><p>They both laugh.</p><p>"And I'm super queer for Rita-Mae right now." Audre gives a devilish smile.</p><p>"Fuck, I know okay. Geez-us." Mickey acts annoyed, but he's smiling back at her.</p><p>"What about you, Mickey?" Audre asks, and Mickey goes stiff. "You're smart, funny—not my type, but definitely hot… you should get your shit together and find you a nice guy. Let him love you. You deserve that."</p><p>"What? You think I'm gay?" Mickey is incredulous, and his protests sound theatrical.</p><p>Audre laughs from her round belly and shakes her head. "You're so cute," she says, but then quickly realizes that Mickey is serious. “Oh, wait. Was I not supposed to know you're gay? Shit, Mickey, you really are surprised.” </p><p>Mickey is stunned and can't find words at first. He swallows thickly around a lump and attempts to clear his throat. “How?” is all he can say. </p><p>“I don’t know. You never talk about women you're attracted to, gaydar. . ." Audre moves her head from side to side like she's rattling loose something. "And, also, I’ve seen you checking out guys,” she says cautiously.</p><p>“What?” Mickey always thinks he’s being discreet, so he's shocked by this piece of information. </p><p>“Yeah, dude. Like that bartender last time we went out for beers downtown kept giving you the eye and you checked out his ass for a hard five seconds at one point.”</p><p>“Fuuuck.” Mickey lets out a long breath. </p><p>“Mickey, I honestly didn't think it was a secret." Audre starts to take an exit. </p><p>"Where are we going?" Mickey seems alarmed, like she's kidnapping him or something. </p><p>"Were gonna stop and get some more fucking coffee, maybe some food. I can't have this conversation and drive and I'm hungry. My treat for freaking you out."</p><p>Mickey tries to breathe, but his chest feels tight. He stays quiet while they park and walk into the greasy side of the road diner. The decor is mustard yellow and sage green, giving away the fact that it was probably built in the seventies and hasn't been updated since.</p><p>As soon as the waters hit the table, Mickey gulps his down, causing a pain in his temple from rapidly ingesting ice cold water. He pants a little and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He tries to steady himself. <em> Slick formica. Smell of coffee. Clanking of dishes </em>.</p><p>"Mickey," Audre says just above a whisper. "Stay with me." Audre taps on the table in front of him. </p><p>Mickey looks up and they make eye contact. "Breathe." She tells him in a soothing, even tone. <em> Why does she sound like that? That must be her therapist voice. </em>He follows her instruction and breathes deep in through his nose and attempts to let it slowly out of his mouth. His breathing starts to even out and he looks up at Audre, his eyes huge and fearful.</p><p>"Hey, Mickey." Audre smiles kindly, warmly. "It's ok. Let's just order some food and if you want to talk about it we can, if you don't want to that's ok too."</p><p>Mickey nods his head, feeling relief all of a sudden and he lets out one more ragged breath.</p><p>"Let's fucking eat. Mama's hungry." Audre pats her overall clad belly and opens her menu. All signs of therapist voice gone. <em> There she is </em>, Mickey thinks, relieved.</p><p>They order a ridiculous amount of food and it comes out quickly. They get half way in, when Mickey finally sits back and comes up for air.</p><p>"I'm sorry," Mickey says almost shyly.</p><p>"You don't have to be sorry." Audre shakes her head slowly. "I'm not even sure what you're sorry for. I'm sorry, dude. I wouldn't have brought it up like that if I'd known."</p><p>"It's not your fault." Mickey tries to smile to make her feel better—to make him feel better. "Maria was just talking to me about this shit. I don't know why I can't just—" He lets out a little sound of frustration.</p><p>Audre looks at him, studying him. "What are you worried about?" Audre asks.</p><p>Mickey feels a twinge of panic again, but the voice in his head, his inner dialogue, is giving him shit for it. <em>Why are you freaking out? Isn't this what Maria was talking about? What's the big fucking deal? It's Audre for fucks sake. Stop being such a pussy and tell your friend.</em> <em>Say it out loud.</em> </p><p>"I'm fucking gay."</p><p>Audre reaches across the table and places her hand on Mickey's wrist cautiously, and she smiles. A kind, almost welcoming smile. </p><p>Mickey lets out a long stream from his lungs that carries in it so much more than just air. It pulls out of his body all the fear and anxiety and insecurity that has been wrapped around the truth that is his sexuality. It's all that has imprisoned him and made him afraid to be who he is. That fooled him into thinking he already was. All the lies he told himself and everyone else and the beliefs that reinforced those lies, that kept so strong. The shame, the anger, the secret fucks, the dirty little secrets. All of that shit, flows out on that one long breath. </p><p>With one exception. One exception remains. But he just isn't ready. Not for that yet.</p><p>"That feel better?" Audre asks, tilting her head as she looks at him.</p><p>Mickey laughs raggedly, almost choking. "Yeah," he croaks. "It really does. Thank you." He thanks her for the third time today.</p><p>"Thank you, Mickey." Audre squeezes his wrist then removes her hand. "Thank you for trusting me. I'm guessing I'm the first person you've said that to."</p><p>Mickey nods his head and frowns. "Pathetic," he says under his breath. </p><p>Audre shakes her head. "Bullshit." She looks him in the eye. "It's not pathetic. It's not a race, dude. Everyone has different shit and everyone has to deal with their shit in their own way on their own time. I'm just sorry I forced your hand. I didn't mean to do that."</p><p>"I'm glad you did." Mickey means it. The sheer relief that one moment helped create being much greater than any momentary panic or loss of confidence. "I've needed to do that for a long time. Funny thing is I literally thought I was comfortable with it. Like it wasn't a big deal. I really thought I was as out as I needed to be, but…" Mickey trails off and looks out the window.</p><p>"But what?" </p><p>"I've been lying to myself. I've been trapped."</p><p>"Your therapist is gonna have an orgasm. We therapist types love a good victory. Don't let her take all the credit though, huh?"</p><p>They laugh a little, and both start to eat again simultaneously. </p><p>Mickey feels airy and something about him feels new. He feels new. He feels baptized and wonders if this is how those born-again nuts feel when they find Jesus or some shit. Because he thinks that's what this feels like—like he's found his religion, his deity, his salvation. He confessed and the truth set him free. Halle-fucking-llejuh and Amen.</p><p>***</p><p>The pick 'n' pull was like a museum, an art show, an amusement park, but they disappointedly agreed that running around and getting greasy was for another day and a different transport vehicle. The excitement of driving the Charger on the small road trip had clouded their judgement, but they promised each other to return soon with other clothing and probably a truck. They get the over-priced part that the owner had held for them and turn around to head back to Chicago.</p><p>The drive back is quiet at first, but that never lasts long with Audre, and Mickey can tell she's dying to ask him something. She is practically bursting at the seams. And Mickey thinks she looks cartoonish, puffing out her cheeks and softly humming. The orange hair isn't helping.</p><p>"What?" Mickey drawls and looks at her sideways. "What is it, Audre?"</p><p>"So, this Ian. . .” she blurts out </p><p>“Is this where you were going earlier?" He sounds incredulous.</p><p>"Maybe. I don't know. Does it matter?" She sounds excited and starts giggling.</p><p>"Audre…"</p><p>"I saw you guys looking at each other before we pulled out of the alley."</p><p>"Wh—so? So what?" He is stammering, freaking out just a little.</p><p>"So, that whole pissy pants act that first day was like, what? Sexual tension and you just handled it like a third grader?"</p><p>"What!?" Mickey gets shrill, which only sends Audre into hysterics.</p><p>He isn't sure why he isn't getting pissed or trying to shut the conversation down, but he isn't. And he really probably should before he says more than he can handle talking about.</p><p>"I’m not attracted to him, Audre,” Mickey protests more calmly.</p><p>"I don't know…"</p><p>"I do. And I'm not."</p><p>“Fine. Whatever." She shrugs and he thinks for three seconds she’s going to drop it. "But he’s hot. You should take another look.” </p><p>“Hot? So I'm not your type, but he is?” </p><p>“You jealous?" Audre cackles again. "No, he's not my type; he's too pretty, but does that mean I can’t see what is attractive about someone even if I’m not attracted to them?” She glances over and they look at each other. “He’s hot, but I think you already know that. And if it isn’t that you're attracted to him then you definitely have a bug up your ass about him for some other reason.” </p><p>“Shut the fuck up,” Mickey says quietly and lets out a rush of air.</p><p>"Okay. I'll drop it. You've probably had enough of Audre's Car Confessionals for one day."</p><p>He had, but he was still glad that they had made the trip together. Mickey was made lighter by their time together and given another inch down the path to wellness all because he finally opened up to someone—opened up to a friend.</p><p>And Audre had made confessions to him too. Talked about her family. Her brother. Told him he was "invaluable". It was all incredibly heavy, but also beautiful, and he couldn't help but feel giddy even after being grilled about Ian.</p><p>They're mostly quiet the rest of the way—well, quiet as in they don't really have any real conversations, but the car is far from quiet as they play hard rock, metal and classic rock loudly, sometimes singing along, occasionally both of them knowing and singing the words together. They find Black Sabbath to be in both of their wheelhouses and there couldn't have been a more perfect picture than the two of them speeding down the road in the 1970s Dodge Charger in hemi orange—Mickey playing air guitar and Audre on steering wheel percussion—singing “War Pigs” at the top of their lungs.</p><p>***</p><p>During the times when he and Audre aren't talking or singing on their way back from South Bend, Mickey thinks about the one person he doesn't want to admit to thinking about. He doesn't want to admit it because he isn't sure what it means for the way he had decided he wanted to feel about everything. It might mean he has to consider the notion that maybe he isn't as angry at Ian as he wants to be. But that can't be right. That doesn't make sense in so many ways.</p><p>He also really doesn't want to admit to himself that when they get back to the garage, he is disappointed that Ian isn't there. It's only five-thirty when he gets back to the shop, but Ian had not stuck around after work. Mickey really doesn't know what he would have said to him if he had been. Their last few interactions had been a fucking disaster—last few? <em>Jesus, that's an understatement. </em></p><p>But Mickey wants something. He wants to see Ian, attempt a conversation, see if he can find some civil ground. But it all sounds so impossible, and he has a feeling that if they were face to face that the chances of it blowing up in front of him are pretty high. And he isn't even sure why he wants to do all that. </p><p>Mickey knows what he needs to do is process everything that has happened over the last few days, but it honestly sounds really fucking hard and he's worried he'll have a panic attack if he tries. He sits down on the found-on-the-side-of-the-road-chair and lights a cigarette. The last two days had definitely been filled with confession and confusion and pain—physical and mental. </p><p>Mickey had told Audre he was gay—had said it out loud—and while amazing, it was also overwhelming. She was right, Maria was gonna be ecstatic. He couldn't help but be most surprised by the fact that up until he told her what she already knew, he really thought he was comfortable, that he was out, that he wasn't ashamed. But he realized he hadn't been comfortable with himself and held on to the fear and shame instilled in him even though he didn't want to believe it. He absolutely was not out, but the fact that now he had two people in his life that knew him—and knew him pretty well—know that he is gay makes him feel so much closer to something he didn't know he needed. Having Iggy back and having him and Audre positively know he was gay filled him up with something he didn't know he was missing.</p><p>And what about Iggy? The day before yesterday when they reconnected, despite his fear, a burden had been lifted he had been carrying around with him. He also had a mini anxiety attack in front of his brother and his mind almost fucked off out of his body right in front of him. Then he had to explain to Iggy all about that and what it meant. Another secret out of his mouth and in someone else's ears. But that had felt good too because Iggy knew something about him that was a huge thing in his life and he had been understanding and genuinely cared. Someone who just a few days ago he thought was out of his life forever. His brother. His family. </p><p>Then there is Ian, who now knows that since his arrival, Mickey has been struggling and losing his shit. He got to see it first hand. And he had taken care of Mickey. Sweetly and with compassion. He had scooped Mickey up in his arms and bundled him in his flannel and covered him in blankets. He'd cleaned his cuts, made him hot tea and made sure he wasn't concussed. And Ian had told him that he knew he was the reason Mickey was suffering and he was sorry and he didn't want him hurting. </p><p>And Mickey had called him a whore. </p><p>"Jesus!" Mickey exclaims out loud, feeling revulsion throughout his body caused by his own fucked up actions. Mickey slams his fist on his thigh and lets out a strangled and frustrated cry. </p><p>Then he remembers the conversation that had led to that exchange, and he remembers talking to Willie, and he can't decide how he feels about any of it anymore. Maybe he's wrong. Willie said he had it all wrong, but when he was fighting with Ian, Ian didn't deny it. Did he? Mickey realizes that all of that was a mess in his head, and he can't quite get it right side up.</p><p>Mickey crushes his smoked-to-the-filter cigarette, lights another one, and gets up to grab a beer from his fridge. He cracks the top, loving the crisp and satisfying sound of the aluminum slicing open. He downs almost half the can and lets out a belch that rattles his little living space. </p><p>He sits back down, heavy in his chair, heavy in his heart, and thinks about the fight with Ian and the things that were said and that Ian had told him that he was here because of him. Because he wanted to fix things. That sounds impossible, but he still wonders what that would look like. To fix things?</p><p>Feeling a slight chill, Mickey wraps up in the button up hanging on the chair. His nostrils are full immediately with the smell of Ian, causing him to see his face and bright red hair. Ian's flannel is somehow magically wrapped around him again and he closes his eyes and his breath hitches.</p><p>
  <em> Fuck, Ian. </em>
</p><p>Mickey thinks about that intrusion from his psyche, the one that was a memory, but felt so real that it took his breath away, left him writhing and desperate. He really doesn’t want to think about it, but he kind of has to. He knows he needs to. </p><p>But, fuck, it is so hard. His brain had forced him to remember pieces of it he just didn't want to face. Because if he really looked at what that memory, that flashback from seven years ago, really meant, he would have to admit that one of the things he had insisted on being mad at Ian about was bullshit. He isn't sure he’s ready for that, but he isn't sure he can keep fighting it.</p><p>Mandy had been pregnant. And Ian's brother, Lip, had been acting like a psycho—calling all the time, coming over to the house at all hours of the day and night, shouting outside at Mandy's window. Lip had been lucky he hadn't gotten his ass shot. Mickey fucking hated that smug prick anyway, and he still wished he had given him a beat down back then.</p><p>But Mandy had lied to them. She'd told them that Lip wanted her to have an abortion and that's why he was chasing her around acting crazy because he didn't want the baby. But the opposite had been true and he wanted her to keep the baby. He wanted the baby. Something about all of it makes him so sad.</p><p>Ian had been right the other night, as he was on that day seven years before, when he came barging into his room, when he told Mickey that all he had done was try to protect her. It was true. Ian had taken care of Mandy for years, even before that, and it seemed that Ian was the only one really taking care of her during that time as well. </p><p>Fuck, if he wasn't still a little angry at Ian about Mandy though. Because he is positive that Ian was the one that helped her runaway not more than three months after she had the abortion. And although Mickey understood in a lot of ways why she left, he was still tortured by how it happened. </p><p>One morning she was just gone. No goodbye. No note. Nothing. Some of her clothes were gone, a few precious possessions missing, and his sixteen year old sister was nowhere to be found.</p><p>He hadn't call Ian. Hadn't try to find him and talk to him about Mandy. But why? Why hadn't he tried? He should have tried. Should have confronted him. He shakes his head, not actually wanting to remember why, not wanting to admit it. He knows, however, that the reason he didn't go seeking answers was because of what he had done to Ian. The final piece of that memory that had knocked him out cold.</p><p>The part of that memory where Ian had crashed his soft, pink lips into Mickey's and they had held on by a desperate kiss that sent waves of longing and hurt through Mickey's body that day in his room after Ian had confronted him. They struggled and they kissed and they held on. And then Mickey snapped.</p><p>Mickey closes his eyes, knowing that he'll see flashes of that day that he really doesn't want to, but he can't deny it, the memory has already come to claim him. His body had only temporarily hushed it up by shutting down the other night. But it was there, and it was tugging at his brain. </p><p>Mickey had snapped. He could feel his body filling with the same dread and fear and shame that had replaced the relief, desire, and affection that had owned the moment for a very short period of time. His fear overtook him and that turned to anger.</p><p>Shoving Ian off of him, he had proceeded to strike out at him. In his memory Ian doesn't fight back and he wonders how much of that is true. What he knows is true, what he remembers, is straddling Ian and beating him with clenched fists and screaming at him. Screaming. </p><p>"Why are you always trying to get yourself killed, you fucking faggot?"</p><p>Mickey slams his beer down and lets out a moan that turns to an aggravated yowl. He sits by the window again and looks out at the evening sky, lighting another cigarette and crushing his palm into his temple. </p><p>Mickey didn't go to Ian about Mandy because he had beaten him senseless and made it clear that he needed to stay the fuck away from Mickey. Forever. And he had. Or he almost had. </p><p>Seven years Ian had been out of his life until two Mondays ago when he had very deliberately gotten a job where Mickey had worked since getting out of prison. His place of employment. His school. His home. His sanctuary.</p><p>Ian had shown up like an apparition, pulling his brain apart and yanking on his chest. </p><p>Mickey still didn't get where Willie came into all this. Maybe he did have it wrong. Willie told him he did, but he doubted that. But maybe, just maybe he needs to consider that not everything is to the extreme like he assumes it is. Maybe Ian isn't all the things he believes him to be. And maybe… there is something more. But he can't dissect that. Not with what knowledge he has and his very closed anxiety ridden judgement.</p><p>What the fuck did all this mean? And what was he going to do about it? He just isn't sure, and doesn’t think he is going to get it all figured out before bedtime. </p><p>So for now, he is gonna chain smoke and think about the mundane things he needs to do like shower and clean his room, make a snack, and maybe draw. He would think about what supplies he needs and maybe order those watercolor pencils he'd seen on Amazon because he can do that now like all the other suckers of capitalism, getting just a few rich assholes richer by consuming things they need, but mostly just things they want.</p><p>Mickey would think about what he would wear tomorrow, make sure he had clean socks and underwear. Think about getting up early and working on the Chevelle now that he could. And that makes him smile. He could at least smile about that, and he goes to bed looking forward to the next day instead of focused on everything that was fucked up and unsure. </p><p>He thanks the lesser known gods of muscle cars for looking over him on that Thursday night, where he drifts off to sleep dreaming of eight cylinders, hemi orange, and original parts found in junkyards. Thank the gods.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello Everyone!</p><p>We are at what I believe is just past the halfway mark, and I really appreciate how supportive everyone has been.</p><p>I'm glad you finally got to meet the Dodge Charger in hemi orange. I've stopped short of naming the cars like I really wanted to, but thought it might be just that extra ounce of cheese we didn't need. Regardless, this car is definitely one of my dream cars that I would probably never actually own because it isn't practical in anyway. But she's GORGEOUS! There is an example of this car on my Tumblr, Instagram and Twitter. Couldn't help myself.</p><p>Several people have talked to me about how this story has helped them in different ways. I'm really happy to hear that, but I hope it goes a step further and that you are encouraged to seek out professional help if you need it. Anxiety and depression are at an all time high right now in the United States, especially among teens. There's no shame in needing help. It can be a really hard step to take, but one that can change your life for the better. I listed a few resources below that I may have already posted, but wanted to make sure that NAMI at least was on here. </p><p>Please be kind to one another and be kind to yourselves.</p><p>💖,</p><p>Chat Noir </p><p> </p><p>•	NAMI: National Alliance on Mental Illness - NAMI provides advocacy, education, support and public awareness so that all individuals and families affected by mental illness can build better lives. They can assist with locating mental health support in your local areas as well. The NAMI Information Help Line can be reached by calling 800-950-6264, Monday through Friday, 10 a.m.–6 p.m., ET, or by email at info@nami.org. They then respond to your email when they return to the office.  You can also visit them at nami.org<br/>•	Link to NAMI National Resource Directory updated February 2020:  https://www.nami.org/NAMI/media/NAMI-Media/Images/FactSheets/NAMINationalResourceDirectory.pdf<br/>•	Anxiety and Depression Association of America (ADAA): (240) 485-1001; press 7 / www.adaa.org  Info and referral on anxiety &amp; depression; online and in person support groups. Offers Spanish-language online support group as well as resources on its website.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello Everyone-</p><p>There are some words and phrases in Spanish and Spanish slang in this chapter. Rather than having you go searching on your own, I have provided a glossary in the end notes. A lot of things have literal translations that get used very different in slang, so you might want to use my glossary instead of Google translate, which may tell you something very weird about a few of the words.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>On Friday morning at seven AM, down on the garage floor, Mickey comes face to face with Rita-Mae. He is frozen in her gaze and honestly feels afraid to move. She has her eyes locked on him, but doesn't say a word, nostrils flaring and lips closed tight. This is not Rita-Mae from Monday. This is a version of her he has not seen directed at him, and she looks <em> pissed </em>.</p><p>"I know, okay?" he says to her, looking down, but he has a tinge of attitude in his voice that he realizes as soon as he speaks is all wrong.</p><p>"I don't want to talk to you right now. Maybe not for the rest of the day." Is all she says, and she turns away from him, pointing into the office for him to grab his clipboard and keys. </p><p>Mickey nods his head. He fucked up by not staying away on Wednesday when she had told him to take the day off. He had stormed into the office, interrupting her with Willie and probably making a complete ass of himself. He knows that all Rita-Mae has been trying to do is help him and he isn't making that easy right now. He wants to apologize, but finds the prospect terrifying and thinks she probably isn't ready to hear any of that anyway. </p><p>Mickey grabs the keys to the car he'll be working on and sees it needs to be up on the rack, so he's gonna need some assistance. He knows that means either Ian or Damon, and right now he isn't sure who he'd rather deal with.</p><p>Mickey's choice is made for him when the tallest motherfucker in the shop strolls in, hair blazing, skin glowing, eyes all but sparkling. Like some glittery fucking vampire. <em> Fuck, if he isn't beautiful. </em>It knocks the wind from him for a brief second. </p><p>
  <em> He's always been beautiful. </em>
</p><p>"Ian—" Mickey is mortified to hear his voice squeak like a twelve year old and he clears his throat and tries again. "Uh, Ian, if you don't already have something set up I need some help getting this car on the rack." </p><p>Ian stops in his tracks, and Mickey sees that Ian is surprised, but he's not sure at what.</p><p>"Uh, yeah, let me throw my stuff in my locker and clock in." </p><p>Mickey is nervous. So fucking nervous. And he feels like just about anything could happen. But he promises himself that he isn't going to do or say anything stupid. </p><p>He hopes. </p><p>Desperately hopes. </p><p>Making sure nerves don't turn to anxiety is his next priority. <em>No more freaking out.</em> <em>Fuck</em>. It's not only embarrassing, but it's fucking exhausting and he just can't handle it anymore.</p><p>"Hey." Ian breaks Mickey from his self-pep-talk trance, and he snaps his head up to see Ian standing right in front of him. </p><p><em> That jumpsuit really might be too small for him </em>, Mickey thinks and realizes he's running his tongue across his bottom lip.</p><p>"Hey, so um, we need to get this little Celica here up on the rack. Help me out?" Mickey is surprised by how even and easy his tone is, and he relaxes, feeling like he might actually keep it together.</p><p>"That's what I'm doing here." Ian's voice is flat and cold and he avoids Mickey's eyes. </p><p>Mickey knows he has to accept it, and he nods his head. "Right. Okay, let's make it fuckin' happen then. You done this yet?" Mickey asks.</p><p>"Yeah, with Rita-Mae."</p><p>"Alright, good." </p><p>"What's wrong with it?" Ian asks, pointing to the little white car.</p><p>"That's what we're gonna figure out." Mickey smiles and catches Ian's eye finally, who looks like he wants to smile back, but is also afraid. </p><p>"Right," Ian says.</p><p>"It sounds like a fuel issue, so we gotta check a few things we can only access from under the car."</p><p>Ian nods.</p><p>"I'll show you." Mickey gestures for them to get to work.</p><p>After getting the car up, Mickey explains to Ian what he's looking at under the carriage. The Celica is not a muscle car, but Mickey has to admit the few times he's been able to drive one that he's loved it's zippiness, handling, and surprising speed.</p><p>"These little four-bangers have a lot more power than they look like they do, but people like to ride 'em hard sometimes." Mickey is pointing at evidence under the car to back up his point.</p><p>"Four-bangers?" Ian's confusion is almost adorable.</p><p>"Oh, yeah, sorry. A little car with four cylinders." Mickey isn't sure how much detail he needs to give Ian, realizing that he has no clue what Ian knows and what he doesn't.</p><p>"Oh, okay. It's like slang?" Ian stuffs his hands in his pockets and rocks back and forth on his heels.</p><p>"Yeah." Mickey nods his head and tilts it to look up at Ian. "So, I don't, uh, know how much you know or don't, so just ask, man. Ok?"</p><p>"I just did."</p><p>Mickey lets out a little aggravated huff, but then pulls it in, and musters up courage he isn’t sure is there, drawing on some reserves.</p><p>"Listen, Ian, I'm sorry about what I said to you the other day. I shouldn't have said that. It was fucked up and… I'm sorry."</p><p>When Ian doesn't respond and his expression doesn't change, Mickey starts to feel the tension between them rise, and he feels like he needs to do something about it quickly so this doesn't turn on him.</p><p>"Look, I noticed you weren't at the shop last night and I just don't want you to fuck up what you got goin' on 'cos I was being a dick."</p><p>"What I got goin' on?" Ian raises his eyebrows with a frown.</p><p>"You know what I'm talking about, Ian." </p><p>Ian looks down and now he's the one that looks nervous.</p><p>"I know you been workin' hard, and you want to learn, so let's get that going."</p><p>Ian looks surprised, and Mickey <em> feels </em> surprised, thinking that what he is saying is the opposite of everything he has been wanting to do for days. He feels soft and wonders how bad he's fucking up right now. </p><p>"Yeah," Ian nods, "Ok."</p><p>"So, you should stay and work tonight. Ok?"</p><p>"Yeah, that'd be good." Ian gives a nervous smile.</p><p>The next grouping of words that falls out of Mickey's mouth almost knocks him over because it feels involuntary, like he is possessed by someone else. Someone who hasn't been angry and avoiding Ian for what he now understands, and is willing to admit, is years. Someone not plagued with anxiety and flashbacks and ghosts from the past haunting their present. Someone that is not Mickey Milkovich.</p><p>"I'm gonna be working on the Chevelle tonight. It'll be a good car for you to learn some stuff on."</p><p>
  <em> Definitely someone else said that. </em>
</p><p>Ian's face lights up, and the redhead gives Mickey his first genuine freckle faced smile. Maybe since his arrival. </p><p>Mickey immediately gets—w<em>hat the fuck is that? Butterflies?</em> <em>Holy shit.</em> There's that sideways, cocky grin that puts Mickey in a fog. He feels his bottom lip quiver slightly and he realizes he isn't breathing, so he lets out a gusty puff of air that so obviously confuses Ian, and embarrasses Mickey enough that he wants the ground to swallow him up right then and there.</p><p>"Okay, let's cut the chit-chat and get to work, Gallagher." Mickey turns away from Ian, but he can see from the corner of his eye the man is smiling again, and Mickey is fucking mortified.</p><p>***</p><p>Mickey had successfully worked with Ian all morning without incident other than the butterflies and subsequent embarrassment caused by his reaction to said butterflies. And he had to admit that Ian had done a really good job and had obviously been studying on his own time and really absorbing what others were showing him. He feels a weird sense of pride and he thinks he has no right to feel this way, but he can't seem to shake it. </p><p>Mickey is setting up the list of repairs that need to be done on the Celica when his whole afternoon changes.</p><p>Before he sees her, Mickey hears her, and he is immediately overwhelmed with guilt and some other thing buzzing in his belly that he is unsure of. Before he even sets eyes on her he hears the loud authoritative voice of Ana Williams. </p><p>
  <em> Oh, fuck. </em>
</p><p>"And where the hell have you been, you little shit?" He looks up and she is barreling towards him and he fucking knows he's in trouble.</p><p>"Ana." Mickey realizes he sounds like a teenager that has been caught sneaking out of the house, but he isn't sure what else to say and it's too late to hide.</p><p>She's standing in front of him, her tight, strong little fists on her hips, lips pursed and nostrils flaring, and he wonders how someone who is 5'1" could look so big and menacing.</p><p>"I tell Willie a week ago he better get your little white ass to my house for dinner or he's sleeping in the garage." She points at him, eyes blazing and absolutely not playing around. "But no smartass pendejo shows up at my house for dinner but him. So, I'm thinking either he didn't tell you which means he's now going to have to sleep in the yard, or you decided not to come."</p><p>"Uh…"</p><p>"Which is it?"</p><p>"I—" Mickey is legitimately scared, and he hasn't felt scared of another human in a really long time. Not like this anyway. He knows he could fuck this up easily and would probably be getting smacked upside the head if he did. "I—I'm sorry, Ana. I couldn't make it. I've been really busy."</p><p>"Bullshit." She isn't buying what he's selling and she's not backing down. "You're coming to family dinner on Sunday. All the kids will be there, so I expect you there too. And if you don't show up I'm coming down here and dragging you to my house by your hair. <em> Comprende </em>?"</p><p>"Ye-yes." </p><p>"Good." All of a sudden she softens and reaches up and pinches his cheek. "Look at you. You're a fucking mess." She examines his eyes, which feels oddly clinical and crosses her arms in front of her, regarding him shrewdly. "Well, you're not on drugs, but you haven't been eating or sleeping."</p><p>"Wha—"</p><p>"Please. I've been raising kids since I was seventeen, if I can't tell when one of my brats is fucked up, it's time to retire."</p><p>Mickey couldn't stop himself from smiling. <em> One of her brats. </em></p><p>"You're gonna get there early and help me and Junior and Jenny cook."</p><p>"Jenny? Jenny is five." Despite his horror at his current situation, he feels like laughing, but doesn't dare.</p><p>Her expression says 'so what?', and it shuts him up. "Yeah, it's about time she learned how to chop onions properly." She stops and her eyes narrow. "And she's been asking for you too, you know? 'Where's Tío Mickey?' Should have told her 'sorry, mija, he's fucking off somewhere not eating and ignoring his family'."</p><p>Mickey is stunned for multiple reasons.</p><p>"I told her you were coming. You make that little girl cry and I'll <em> knock </em> your ass out." And she means it.</p><p>"I won't. I promise."</p><p>"You better not." She softens again and pulls him in for a hug and then pinches his cheeks one more time when she pulls away. "I miss you, mijo. I'm worried about you."</p><p>He nods, feeling sad that he's made her worry when she has enough to worry about already.</p><p>"So get your shit together. Where's my fucking husband?" She storms off just as she arrived, a whirlwind of honey colored skin on a slight but muscular frame. Little but fierce. Hurricane Ana. And she disappears into the office.</p><p>Looks like he's calling Iggy for a raincheck for Sunday.</p><p>***</p><p>Ian is smiling at Mickey. A big dopey smile and it takes Mickey a while to realize it. Mickey has been talking non-stop about the Chevelle since everyone else left the shop. About what the car looked like when they first got it, about the different areas that were finished, about what still needed to be done. He talks about the history and what makes it such a special car. Mickey also regurgitates his history lesson from Audre on the American mid-size V8 in all its glory without even realizing it.</p><p>Mickey is showing Ian around the recently acquired part, and he finally looks up to see Ian grinning from ear to ear and looking at Mickey. His expression throws Mickey completely off because it's full of so many emotions. He looks proud and affectionate and admiring. Ian looks just straight up enamored, his eyes glinting, and Mickey gets entranced. He's unable to look away from Ian for way longer than he would like and his breathing is a mess, shallow and almost panting.</p><p>"Don't do that, man." Mickey finally comes back to himself. "Don't look at me like that." He shakes his head. And looks away. </p><p>"I can't help it." Ian is honest, and Mickey feels all of his sincerity and it kind of hurts.</p><p>Mickey pulls his bottom lip in between his teeth, not able to look at Ian. </p><p>"Ian, I just…"</p><p>"Can you look at me?" Ian says above a whisper. His voice is like a honeycomb, full of complex compartments of emotion, dripping with sweetness. So sweet Mickey can taste it on his tongue. And even though he doesn't want to, he looks.</p><p>Their eyes lock and it's really hard for Mickey to tell what Ian is thinking.</p><p>"I can't help but look at you like that." Ian restates it. "Listening to you talk about something you love, something you get and are so into… it's honestly amazing. And it just makes you look so fucking beautiful."</p><p>"Ian, don't." Mickey shakes his head, but maintains eye contact somehow.</p><p>"Why not?" Ian's sideways smirk is so subtle, but there.</p><p>That's a good fucking question. Why not? Why the fuck not? Why can't Ian look at him with affection, and speak sugary sweet words to him that make his teeth hurt, and tell him he's beautiful? <em> Why the fuck not? </em></p><p>Because it's complicated. Because it's scary. Because he's angry. He thinks. Because Ian is a ghost and his past is a nightmare and he's still deathly afraid of it all. Maybe those are reasons. It's not clear.</p><p>Ian is waiting for a response. Waiting for Mickey to tell him "why not" and he's sure as shit not gonna say all that. But Mickey needs to and wants to tell him something. Feels he owes him at least something that is more than denial, insults, and righteous indignation—that might possibly be misplaced. Maybe. Still not sure about that. </p><p>He is sure, however, that over the last week, every time he was finally able to be honest with himself and the people around him, he's benefited from it. So maybe he needs to be a little honest here.</p><p>"All of this is hard for me, man. And I don't know what to think about… any of it." he says with honesty. <em> Honestly confused. </em> Mickey looks at the ground then turns around and opens the tailgate of the small pick-up behind them and sits down.</p><p>"Maybe you aren't sure why you want to be mad at me." Ian sits next to him.</p><p>"That's fucking ridiculous." </p><p>"Is it?" Ian challenges. "Maybe you want to be mad about something else and it's not the shit with Mandy. This bullshit with Willie and the job—"</p><p>"Fuck you. All that's real! I fucking can't stand your ginger ass." He raises his voice and regrets it, but his reaction feels like a reflex and it has no teeth.</p><p>"Fuck you, Mickey." Ian doesn't flinch. "You know none of what happened with Mandy and Lip was about me. You know I took care of her. I know you're probably mad that I helped her run away, but it's not even about that. And yeah, you might be pissed at me moving up quickly. And Willie can eye fuck me all he wants but I'm not gonna fuck him. I'm earning my place. I'm working hard. You said it yourself." </p><p>Mickey freezes, his shoulders pull back and he looks Ian in the eye. "Wait, you're not? You aren't?"</p><p>"No." Ian shakes his head quietly. "I understand now why you think that, but I'm not. Yeah. I flirted with him. Even let him stand too close to me, brush against me... But I haven't done anything with him and I'm not going to, Mickey. And I told him that."</p><p>"When?" Mickey asks.</p><p>"Monday when we kinda argued and you still wanted to act like you didn't know me." Ian looks sideways at Mickey. "When he called me in his office. He got handsy and I told him he had the wrong idea. And it was my fault really. I really wanted to make sure I got this job, and I'd heard… things… about Willie. So I flirted. Hard. But I never intended to do anything with him. That's not why I'm here."</p><p>Mickey turns to meet Ian's gaze and he feels his head tingle, the realization that nothing has happened between Ian and Willie simultaneously fills him with relief, regret, and fear. That simple fact carries too many implications and Mickey feels like jumping out of his skin.</p><p>He wants to ask him why he wanted to work here so bad, and what he had heard about Willie and from who. And he wants to ask him if he knew that Mickey was working here then why was it so important to Ian now to be where Mickey is. Why now? But he doesn't. Because he can't. And he doesn't really want to know all those answers yet anyway. He thinks he will some day. Today isn't that day.</p><p>Then his mind drifts back to Mandy because that's a constant pain that never goes away.</p><p>"So you <em> were </em> the one that helped her run away?" Mickey asks.</p><p>"Yeah, Mickey." Ian nods. "It was me. I figured you knew that."</p><p>Mickey can tell Ian is expecting Mickey to freak out and start another fight--for him to harnass the hurt of losing his sister for the purpose of lashing out at Ian, but Mickey doesn't feel like using that anymore, and he's just fucking tired.</p><p>Mickey clears his throat and looks at the redhead. "Ian, do you know where she is? Do you know where Mandy is? You helped her leave. You must… " Mickey pleads. </p><p>Ian breaths out slowly, puckering his lips. "I knew where she <em> was </em>, Mickey, but I lost track of her the last time I was in the psych hospital. That was like…" Ian looks up, calculating in his head.</p><p>"Four years ago." Mickey is looking in the distance, not realizing he's given something away until he feels the side of his face grow hot. He turns and sees Ian staring at him. They lock eyes, but neither of them are willing to speak the truth that has been uncovered. </p><p>Mickey's eyes are wide and finally, Ian looks away, and lets out a long stuttered breath, shaking his head. </p><p>They sit silent, not looking at each other or acknowledging one another, but the silence does not become unbearable like it seems like it should.</p><p>"I thought for a long time you guys were together 'cos you split not long after she did." Mickey is quiet and feeling shy.</p><p>"No, but you figured that out, didn't you?" Ian's tone is pointed, but not accusatory.</p><p>Mickey says nothing, he only stares, knowing what Ian is implying, and feeling a little queasy that he's right.</p><p>"Yeah," is all Mickey can say.</p><p>"I had to get her out of there," Ian finally speaks. </p><p>"I know," Mickey whispers. "I was so fucking angry at you for doing that. It hurt, Ian. It still fucking hurts. I haven't heard one word from her in seven years. Well, actually I got a letter a year after that just said she was ‘good and safe’." He lets out a sarcastic laugh. "But that's it. I don't know why she couldn't tell me. Or… I don't know."</p><p>"The baby was Terry's," Ian blurts out and he can't meet Mickey's eyes.</p><p>Mickey bores a hole in the side of Ian's face. And then turns his head and lets out a sigh that is more like a groan. </p><p>"I know that hurts, but I also don't think you're surprised." Ian waits for Mickey to respond, but he says nothing. "She told me the day I took her to have the abortion. And we started making plans to get her out." </p><p>"I guess part of me knew." Mickey is choking on his words. "I just didn't want it to be true. I wanted to be angry with you and her instead. I couldn't admit it to myself because I would've… I probably would've done something that would've gotten me killed." </p><p>Ian nods, telling Mickey with a simple gesture that he knows what he is saying and knows he's right. </p><p>"But where the fuck did she go? Do you know what she was doing?" </p><p>"Ugh…" Ian stretches out his legs and runs his fingers roughly through his hair. </p><p>"What, Gallagher? What the fuck?"</p><p>"Mickey, she was looking for your mom," Ian says, turning to Mickey.</p><p>There is stunned silence, and Mickey is having difficulty processing what he is hearing. </p><p>"How? None of us knew shit," Mickey says. "She couldn't even remember our mom."</p><p>"I guess she found a box of her stuff under some floor boards that had letters from family, your mom's birth certificate, I don't know what else. And she grilled your Aunt for information. She was seriously running all over the country for years, but as far as I knew she never found her." Ian looks down at his hands. "It hadn't been the plan. We'd found a youth rescue organization that took in 'at-risk youth' and she was set to go there. We got a fake ID from that scumbag forger—what was his name?" Ian looks at Mickey again.</p><p>"Bob." Mickey nods.</p><p>"He had a last name, Mickey." </p><p>"No. Just Bob." </p><p>"Whatever." Ian rolls his eyes. "That guy. I paid for her a bus ticket and she got to Peoria—" </p><p>"Peoria! What the fuck?" </p><p>"Yeah, Peoria." Ian is obviously getting annoyed, but continues. "But she didn't stay long I don't think. She pretended to though. I think she had other plans all along. She had a burner I helped her pay for for a while, but eventually she got her own and before you ask, I have no idea how she was making money. She never stayed any place long, but I at least know she was waitressing sometimes when she was some place long enough, but I honestly don't know. I didn't want to know. </p><p>"Last time I talked to her she was in New York. But by that point I was too sick to help her, and I'm not even sure I fully comprehended what she was doing there." </p><p>Mickey's chest is caving in and he wants to cry, wants to scream, wants to hit something and bloody his knuckles.</p><p>"Why didn't you fucking tell me all this? Why didn't you tell me, Ian?" Mickey is raising his voice and looking at Ian with heated eyes.</p><p>"Are you fucking serious?" Ian stands up. "You made it abundantly clear over and over you wanted nothing to do with me. You ignored me. Threatened me. You beat that into me. Remember?" </p><p>"But my sister—"</p><p>"No, fuck you." Ian is angry. Fists clenched. "What did you ever do to protect her from your piece of shit father? I was the only one that took care of her. Protected her. You did nothing. You were always afraid of Terry! You always let him ruin everything and everyone around you! You let him ruin <em> you </em>, you fucking coward!"</p><p>Mickey leaps at Ian, knocking him over and straddling him, punching him in the chest and once across the jaw, but Ian grabs his wrists and rolls them over. Ian attempts to hold Mickey's arms down, but before he can immobilize him, Mickey grabs Ian between his strong thighs and flips them back over. Ian is still holding his wrists and Mickey pushes his chest down and tries to gain leverage. Ian suddenly lets go of Mickey's wrists. With one arm slung around Mickey's shoulder he hugs Mickey to him and with his other hand he grabs onto his waist and flips Mickey on his back again.</p><p>Their legs are tangled together and Ian tucks himself into Mickey, his nose buried in Mickey's neck, holding him tight, not trying to fight, but not letting go. </p><p>They both freeze, and they start to feel the tension rise. The hardness of each other's muscles, the softness of their bellies, heat of their skin. Their bodies begin to vibrate, and Mickey grabs a handful of Ian's hair. They hold tight to one another, any slight movement causing them both to sigh, to groan. Squeezing. Pulsing. Breathing. They clutch one another, and each move with slight undulations that just cause more ache.</p><p>"I'm not a coward," Mickey says, voice cracking and choking back a sob.</p><p>Ian is deep in Mickey's neck, and he lets out a ragged sigh. "I know. I'm sorry."</p><p>Mickey feels Ian's tears on his neck.</p><p>"Fuck." Mickey gulps and pushes Ian's head closer still into his neck and runs his free hand along Ian's spine. Ian holds Mickey's waist tighter and he laces the other hand under Mickey's shoulder, gripping him.</p><p>Muscles expanding and contracting. Hearts beating and thrumming. Chests heaving with every breath. Together. All of it together.</p><p>"I'm sorry," Ian whispers again.</p><p>"I'm sorry too." Mickey knows, and he is sure that Ian knows as well, that they are apologizing about more than what's in front of them, more than just what has transpired between them tonight.</p><p>Ian kisses Mickey's neck and breathes him in. "Mickey," he sighs.</p><p>Mickey closes his eyes and let's himself feel Ian for a moment. Mickey fists Ian's hair and pushes his groin up into him. Ian obliges and opens his mouth to taste Mickey.</p><p>The wetness on his skin. The subtle scrape of teeth. Ian pressing down on his body. The weight of this feeling. Their violence turned to passion, to hunger, feeling too familiar but also so far away. He feels like he's tumbling, falling backwards, and he tries to hold Ian tighter, but it feels like he's losing his grip. </p><p>Without warning, Terry is behind his eyes and Mickey feels a searing pain in his temple and his guts churn. Ian is suddenly too heavy, and he starts to squirm underneath him. </p><p>"Get off me!" Mickey is gasping for air and he pushes on Ian's chest, who attempts to move off of Mickey as fast as he can, but it is awkward and he somehow ends up on his back on the unforgiving cement.</p><p>"Mickey?" Ian gasps, his face is the picture of confusion and he looks at Mickey who is now standing over him.</p><p>Mickey is having trouble catching his breath and he feels like he's about to lose it, but he just doesn't want to. Not now. Not in front of Ian. Not like this. Everytime his eyes blink closed he sees a gruesome sample of a memory so far away, shoved so deep, that the threat of its resurfacing feels like it will shatter him in a million pieces. Spots of color. Swatches of pain. Red hair covered in blood. And Mickey is unable to move. Helpless. Then and now.</p><p>He is frozen now, but his face is wet, and he just can't seem to get air in his lungs.</p><p><em>Mickey </em>.</p><p>The sound is so distant it sounds hollow and meant for someone else.</p><p>"Mickey." His shoulders are covered by huge man-size paws and he feels a gentle shake. </p><p>
  <em> Fingers gripping. Feet on ground. Wetness on face, Salty sweat and musky air. Open your eyes, Mickey. </em>
</p><p>He does. He opens his eyes and sees the red hair and pale skin littered with freckles. Sees Ian. Sees the adult version of the boy from his vision of atrocity, and he is just then aware that his breathing has slowed and he is coming back into his body and he is able to focus. And he sees the green of Ian's eyes and asymmetrical, squareness of his jaw and the thick veins pulsing in his neck. And fuck. It's just all too much.</p><p>"No." Mickey shakes his head and lets out a strangled sound like an animal in pain. He closes his eyes because he can't bear the frightened and pained look on the beautiful face of the boy—the man—in front of him.</p><p>Mickey brushes off Ian's hands with little force and turns away from him, steadying himself with his palms on the pick-up in front of him. He hangs his head between his shoulders. </p><p>"Mickey?" Ian's voice is so quiet, so meek and he sounds like a child. He sounds scared and it makes Mickey's heart burn in his chest.</p><p>"Please, just go," Mickey says above a whisper, his voice ragged and pleading.</p><p>"I'm sorry," Ian says.</p><p>"Don't be sorry. Just go."</p><p>"Are you gonna be ok?" Ian's voice lifts an octave and his concern drips off every word. </p><p>Mickey doesn't say anything because he honestly doesn't know.</p><p>"I—I'd rather wait until I know you're upstairs." Ian is so cautious and gentle that it tears at Mickey, little paper thin cuts that threaten to bleed out all over the floor.</p><p>Mickey doesn't ask why. He knows why. And he doesn't respond either. He just turns around, meeting Ian's eyes for a split second, not wanting to look at his concern, his pain, his longing or worry or sadness, but not finding a way to avoid it other than to look away. </p><p>Mickey walks to the stairs leading to his room, his feet feeling like bricks. He can't tell if he really is moving so slow or if it just seems that way. Mickey can feel Ian at his back, watching to make sure he is steady. And Mickey hates it. He just wants to disappear, never to be seen again. But he indulges Ian because he knows he's right. Knows that he might not make it up the stairs if he is left here alone.</p><p>At the foot of the stairs he stops and grips the railing. He wants to say something. Wants to turn around and just tell Ian something to make this less fucked up, less miserable, less complicated, less embarrassing. But he can't. So he looks at the ceiling and lets out a breath that falters.</p><p>"It's ok," Ian says, and it somehow makes Mickey's sorrow heavier because he can hear so much layered in Ian's voice. So much torment and injury, disquiet and concern. </p><p>
  <em> Fucking concern. So sick of everyone being concerned. Of making everyone concerned.  </em>
</p><p>"It's okay, Mickey. It's gonna be okay," Ian breathes out, and it almost sounds like he believes it.</p><p>Mickey bows his head and ascends the stairs, not turning and looking at Ian. He just can't. </p><p>He opens the door and locks himself inside. Inside his room. Inside his chest. Inside his gray matter. He wants Ian to be right. That it's going to be okay. But it sounds like a fantasy. And Mickey can't indulge fantasies right now. He never really could. </p><p>***</p><p>Mickey's short reprieve from nightmares abruptly ended Friday night. He had passed out cold after drinking more than he had in a really long time, and had been wracked with unforgiving images of violence and pain, resulting in him waking up in a pool of sweat, head pounding and nauseous.</p><p>After cleaning himself up he spent Saturday morning going through his "toolbox" in his recovery plan he had made with Maria months before. It consisted of a long list of things he could do to help him feel better, be well. Some stuff was as simple as "take a shower", "brush your teeth", "put on clean clothes". But some were more activities or tasks like cleaning his room or going for a walk. Maria had been insisting he go outside more, and he had decided to combine that with probably one of his favorite things on the list which was drawing. </p><p>Mickey hadn't been drawing much lately. Even before Ian had showed up he had slowed down, finding inspiration difficult, but he loved it and it always made him feel different during and after—like a warmer shade of the existing color of his mood. Mickey could almost disconnect his brain when he had the pencils or charcoal in his hand, but not in a bad way. Not in the way it happens when his body is full of anxious energy and he's ready to crawl inside himself and die. No, this was different. He felt like some other piece of him was able to take over, able to guide his hand and fill his brain with a soft hum that made the rest of his body unfurl, and kept his mind from wandering to the darker recesses where the buried past reigned.</p><p>The weather is mild and Mickey takes his art supplies and walks until he finds a park with a bench that isn't covered in bird shit or has someone sleeping on it, but he quickly realizes he can't get involved in what he is doing because he can't stop his head from being on a swivel. He is exposed in the middle of the park, and even though he knows there is no one coming after him, that there is no one who is looking for him or trying to hurt him, he just can't stay out here. The old fears still live in his body, reacting like reflexes, not allowing him to get lost in his art. He has to go and find someplace where his body will believe it is safe. And as much as he doesn't want to do it, and thinks the idea is ridiculous, he decides after looking at his list that he will take one of Maria's suggestions and go to a nearby coffee shop. </p><p>He is almost embarrassed by the idea and hopes that no one he knows sees him there. Mickey would rather be caught in a crack house at this point, but he finds one that isn't too commercial and not too kitschy and pretty laid back, and he sets himself up by a window with a cup of coffee and a cookie that is covered in so much caramel and chocolate and nuts that it is more candy than cookie. His sweet tooth rules the moment. He decides that's a good sign and he does not regret his decision to pick this coffee shop.</p><p>Mickey pulls out his sketch pad, pencils, eraser and sharpener, and he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He doesn't really have an idea of what he's going to draw. He never really does. When his hand starts to move something else always takes over, something inside him or maybe some force of nature he doesn't understand. Maybe his subconscious. Maybe God. Or <em> one </em>of the gods. Mickey isn't sure he understands any of that enough to say definitively. But the feeling always overtakes him and his body is guided by something that allows him to create what wasn't there before. And that's a fucking beautiful thing. </p><p>The pencil gets pushed around the paper. Lines of graphite and swirls of charcoal. Smears and smudges of black and gray. Blending, erasing, shading. He loses himself and is engulfed by the sensory experience of it all. The tactile sensation of pencil and paper and the smell of graphite and charcoal as well as that of the eraser and it's shavings, almost like burning rubber across the page, engages him.</p><p>Mickey falls into what he is doing easily, forgetting about his coffee, forgetting about his candy cookie, forgetting about his self conscious presence in a coffee shop. He loses inhibitions and the restraints of thinking and gives over control of his body to the process of using crystalline forms of carbon to transform sheets of wood pulp into something new, images from inside of only him, shapes and designs all his own. </p><p>To say that Mickey is engrossed is an understatement, and he stays like that for a while, hunched over, ignoring his coffee and his sweet tooth. He feels the possession like he hadn't felt in many, many weeks, maybe a few months, and he loses track of time and space. When he finally pulls back from his work he takes a deep breath that abruptly turns to a gasp. </p><p>"What the fuck?" He whispers to himself, moving his hands away from his drawing, his elbows tucked in and forearms raised. His eyes move back and forth across the paper as they grow wide in disbelief. He brings into focus the contours and sharp lines and delicate features that his possessed hands had created and he sees right in front of him a half naked man, whose skin is peppered with freckles and eyes warm but a little sad, and who is looking right back at Mickey.</p><p><em> Fuck </em>.</p><p>Mickey drops his pencil and looks down, not sure what or how that happened, but he has to admit one thing at least, and that is that the drawing in front of him, the drawing of Ian, is probably the best thing he's ever drawn, and once he is over the initial shock he is able really sit back and appreciate it. Ian's naked chest is his imagination's best guess based on what knowledge he has of his body now in combination with what he knew before. And it's beautiful. Though he does not have color pencils he still manages to get the shape and texture of Ian's hair just right. But Ian’s eyes really take the prize, and Mickey has managed to draw a version of Ian that is piercing him and pleading with him and opening him up without even having to be in front of him. </p><p><em> Fuck </em>. He can’t stop saying "fuck". </p><p>Mickey switches the page, draws air into his lungs and sits back. He wipes his blackened fingers off and takes a ridiculously large bite of the candy cookie. The contrasting textures and sweetness of the confection immediately engages his senses and he eats most of it without coming up for air. He chugs down his lukewarm coffee and sighs easily, no ragged breath or stutter in rhythm. So he thinks maybe he's okay. </p><p>Mickey decides to start over, start something new. He once again gives himself over to the process, but as he's moving along he realizes he is moving faster and faster and using more and more of the charcoal pencil, which creates huge patches of black. He uses his eraser and it's almost like he's drawing with it instead, cutting through the black, leaving a trail behind, revealing patches and slivers white. In half the time of the drawing before, Mickey finishes this one in a frenzy. He pulls away from it and takes it in. Much of it is smudged dark grey, but in the middle of the drawing a little figure with black hair and a dirty face is holding back a door where darkness is attempting to seep through. And he knows, just knows in his heart, that the boy is him.</p><p><em> Fuck </em>. Fuck again.</p><p>Mickey's subconscious is out to play and he's not pleased with it, but he also thinks about what Maria and probably Audre would say too, and that it may not be exactly what he wants but it might be what he needs. He also has to admit that at the end of the day he feels purged—at least to a certain extent—and less burdened by the nightmares lurking in the shadows. Also, the drawing was actually pretty fucking cool.</p><p>Mickey pops the rest of the caramel covered cookie in his mouth, but he feels kinda hollow inside and realizes the cookie is all he has eaten since some pizza rolls the night before. He thinks about Ana chastising him and accusing him of not eating and he decides to take himself out for a late lunch/early dinner. </p><p>It's not something he's accustomed to, but he remembers Audre talking about taking herself out on dates and how much she likes to go to restaurants alone and read or pretend to read while she actually people watches, so he thinks he would try an actual sit down dinner by himself where someone comes to the table and everything. He's intimidated by the idea, but also feels excited. So he ventures out in search of where to take himself for his first date.</p><p>Mickey settles on a diner not too far away from home where Larry Seaver had taken him a few times over the last year when he had been on "field visits". Mickey is fairly certain his P.O. had made up "field visits" so he could get out of the office and eat because "field visits" were different from "employment checks" or "residential visits" and they always involved food. He can hear Larry talking his ear off about every single kind of pie served in the place and the merits of each one. Then Larry would settle on German chocolate cake for dessert.</p><p>Mickey takes off his bag that holds his art supplies and slides into the red leather booth, smiling to himself, thinking about the cartoon character that is Larry Seaver when his phone alerts him to a text message</p><p>He sees it's from a number he doesn't recognize and he is puzzled at first.</p><p><b>Unknown</b>:  Just want to see how you're doing</p><p><b>Unknown</b>:  I know you gave me your number in case I didn't like the after hours stuff. So I'm sorry I'm using it, but I really wanted to make sure you're ok</p><p><b>Unknown</b>:  Are you ok?</p><p><em> Ian </em>.</p><p>Mickey stares at it for an inordinate amount of time, until it really sinks in that the texts are from Ian. And he just doesn't know how to respond.</p><p>He orders his food and then looks at the texts again. Three texts. Four sentences. And a shitload of baggage. <em> Fuck </em>.</p><p>He wants to respond. He doesn't feel it's fair to leave Ian hanging. And he wants to be fair. He really does. Last night hadn't been fair, but it wasn't his fault. He knows that. And he believes Ian knows that too. </p><p>Mickey is kind of frozen. It isn't really clear to him how he should handle this. Somehow the act of texting with Ian feels like another level of intimacy that he isn't prepared for. It even feels more intimate than what had gone on between them the night before. Then he realizes he really hasn't thought much about last night; his nightmares and the residual uneasiness from them, taking up the majority of his psyche's energy.</p><p><em> Shit </em>. Now he has to think about it. And really he just wants to draw while he waits for his food.</p><p>What had happened? What had actually really happened when he thinks about it? They had been working, Mickey had shown Ian around the engine of the Chevelle, and had probably gone on and on too long about God knows what. And Ian had looked at him. <em> Oh, Jesus, that look. </em> He had looked at Mickey in a way that made it hard to shake or forget. And even remembering is causing his insides to turn to warm goo. </p><p>But then they had proceeded to have beyond difficult conversations that resulted in Mickey flying off the handle, Ian saying something he regretted, and them losing their shit and fighting. </p><p>And then…</p><p>Mickey sighs deeply. He closes his eyes and thinks about how good Ian's body felt pressed down on his. So firm in some places and so soft and warm in others. He can feel Ian's lips on his neck, Ian's hot wet mouth and now Mickey's panting gently. He opens his eyes and swallows around the lump that's shown up for the party and he wishes that his dark twisted memories hadn't shown up last night. But what could he really do about it? </p><p>And then he has to think about what might have happened if they hadn't been interrupted by flashes of the past—his past and Ian's. What might have happened? And did he want it to? Mickey knows he had been responding, and some part of him definitely wanted more, but the body remembers sometimes better than the mind, and his body started to violently remember something that couldn't allow him to hold Ian that close and feel his lips and fist his hair. Couldn't let him feel. His body was afraid. So now his mind was as well. </p><p>He hates it. All of it. And isn't sure where to go from here, but he just can't get into that situation again. At the same time, he doesn't want to push Ian away anymore. Not as far as he has been. So maybe they gotta work some shit out. <em> That sounds fucked. </em></p><p>Mickey wonders if he's over thinking all of it and needs to just tell the guy he's fine and move on. He lets out a nervous sigh while his thumbs hover over his phone screen. He adds Ian to his contacts, which somehow feels like a big deal, then he composes and re-composes his text four times. Too formal. Too friendly. Too cold. Too hot. </p><p><em> Shit </em>. </p><p>He settles on what he hopes is nice and simple.</p><p><b>Mickey</b>: I'm good. Thanks for asking.</p><p>He leaves it at that and hopes Ian does too, but somehow he doubts it.</p><p><b>Ian</b>: Oh, good</p><p>And he was right.</p><p><b>Ian</b>: I was worried</p><p><b>Ian</b>: Sorry again for texting</p><p>Mickey doesn't respond. And his food arrives, saving him from a decision at that moment. He preps his cheeseburger and fries to his liking and takes his first few bites. While he chews he thinks and thinks and thinks. He probably ends up thinking too long because his phone dings again before he can come up with how to respond if at all.</p><p><b>Ian: </b>And I'm sorry for what I said last night. I didn't mean it. </p><p><b>Ian</b>: I don't mean it. </p><p>Mickey knows he didn’t and doesn’t mean it. He wants to say that, but like everything else, he isn’t sure if he should. Again he waits too long and apparently Ian isn’t done.</p><p><b>Ian</b>: I don't feel that way.</p><p><em> Fuck. He really needs me to say something. </em> Mickey is in pain, but he recognizes that his pain isn’t just for himself it is also for the pain he knows that Ian is in. His heart starts to ache, old feelings bubbling to the surface, pushing anxiety up into his throat. He licks his lips and takes a big drink of his Coca-Cola. The burn from the carbonation grounding him and keeping him present, he picks up his phone and looks at it, looks at Ian’s words.</p><p>Every response he can think of is too involved or carries too much additional baggage. It all seems so immense and he thinks there has to be a better way to do this, and decides to say just that.</p><p><b>Mickey</b>: Maybe texting isn't the best way to do this. </p><p>Ian is silent for longer than Mickey expects. Just a few minutes before Ian’s rapid fire texting made him anxious and uneasy, now his absence of response makes a swirl of sadness in his chest.</p><p><b>Mickey</b>: I'm out doing stuff right now</p><p>He’s not sure why he’s giving Ian this information. Maybe to tell him that he’s busy or that he can't process right now. He’s not sure, but he sits for a second before adding to it. </p><p><b>Mickey</b>: Why don’t I call you when I get home?</p><p><em> What the fuck am I doing? </em>But that's just it. He doesn't know what the fuck he’s doing.</p><p><b>Ian</b>: Yeah. That would be great.</p><p><b>Mickey</b>: Ok. Probably in a few hours</p><p><b>Ian</b>: Awesome!</p><p><em> Fuck. He's too enthusiastic. </em> Mickey instantly regrets it, but it’s too late. And maybe the regret is actually fear because he thinks that he isn’t wrong; the conversation was too serious and intricate to have through text and he needs to eat and think about what he might actually say to Ian. </p><p>Also, Mickey isn’t going to be scolded again by Ana, so he eats so he can tell her he has when she asks if he’s been eating because he can’t lie to her and he doesn’t want to give her another reason to give him more shit. However, he knows that’s wishful thinking because she probably will anyway. He has neglected her. And he guesses the family too—at least according to Ana. </p><p>He hadn’t really thought about that part. Hadn’t thought anyone would care other than maybe Ana. It’s not that he forgot about Jenny, she was his little buddy, the one that had given him his kitten notebook that he lovingly uses. But truly he underestimated how much she would care about his absence. It never occurred to him that she cared so much for him that she would ask for him and be sad he wasn’t around. It continues to be difficult for him to understand that people want him in their lives and miss him when he isn’t. Having Iggy express sadness at Mickey not contacting him and asking to be brothers and Audre telling him that he is invaluable to her has started to open his mind to the possibility that he deserves these positive relationships with others and that there are people out there that actually… </p><p>Actually what? <em> Fuck, this is hard. </em> And he doesn't think it should be. But there are people out there that actually miss him and probably love him also. With Ana storming him and telling him he is neglecting his “family” and that Jenny is asking for her Uncle Mickey, he thinks there are at least two more people that might feel more strongly for him than he ever thought he deserved. </p><p>And what about Ian? He didn’t just show up. He showed up because of him. Mickey knows that. It is no coincidence that Ian is here and it’s obviously because of something in their past because Ian wants something more from Mickey than he knows how to give right now. So obviously, Ian’s feelings must be stronger and deeper than he expected. </p><p>It’s been seven years since they had actually interacted—talked, fought, held each other, crashed lips, felt one another. Seven years since he had beat him to the point that he stayed away. But it had been nine years since they had first really been in each other’s lives and that was even harder to swallow or understand. Nine years later and Ian is here because of him. And he knows it means more than he can fully comprehend right now.</p><p>It’s also hard to absorb some of what Ana had said. They had been including him in family dinner and holidays since the day Ana had forced him into their dining room and made him eat too many enchiladas. Eventually, he was included in family functions like birthdays, a funeral, and one of the grandkid’s quinceanera, where he sat with Willie the whole time getting drunk and listening to him make fun of all of Ana’s relatives and some of his as well. He smiles when he thinks about it and realizes he not only misses the family, but that he also misses Willie. </p><p>He’s still upset with Willie, though, which makes it so hard to think about going over to their house, but at least he can unravel Ian from that a little bit. Mickey now knows definitively that Ian had not done anything with Willie and although he isn’t pleased with the fact that Ian had flirted his way into the job and given Willie the idea that he maybe had a chance with him, he is relieved that he had it wrong. But it didn’t change the fact that Willie had tried to make it more than an employer/employee relationship and it didn’t change the fact that he was attempting to have an affair with someone at work in front of everyone. In front of him. It doesn’t change the fact that he was going to cheat on Ana, and although he had heard that this was something he did, it hadn’t been real until he had seen it.</p><p>Maria had probably been right when she had said that part of his anger involved Willie’s blatant display of his sexuality, but he didn’t think it was because it reflected his own—well, maybe a little. And definitely some of it is because it meant Willie is lying to Ana, and that hurts him, but he knows that a big part of all this is because it involved Ian. Willie was attempting to cheat on Ana with <em> Ian </em>, and that upset him on a whole other level. Fuck, he was jealous. And he had to see that for what it was.</p><p>So, he isn’t sure how he is going to respond to seeing Willie on Sunday, and being there with him and his family while he is holding one of his secrets, but Mickey thinks he will probably try to avoid him as much as possible. With all of the family there, as Ana had said, he thinks that should be fairly easy to do.</p><p>Mickey finishes his lunch, and orders dessert to go because he isn’t leaving there without something sweet for later. He feels like he is going to need it after talking to Ian later. Better than getting drunk again, which had definitely been a mistake. He packs up his stuff, grabs his sweets, and heads home to prepare for a conversation he isn’t sure how to have.</p><p>***</p><p>Mickey is laying in bed smoking a cigarette. He thinks—no, knows—he’s overthinking what he needs to do next. He is thinking to death what he is going to say to Ian. How he’s going to start the conversation. What the conversation is actually going to consist of. How he’s going to address him. To the extent that he even thought and overthought how he was going to greet him. Hi. Hello. Howsit goin’? Whatsup? Jesus. What a mess. </p><p>It’s been almost two hours since their text exchange and he decides he needs to just bite the bullet and call. As he picks up his phone to dial Ian’s number, he feels anxiety pooling in his stomach, but it’s too late to do anything about it now.</p><p>The phone rings only once when Ian picks up. “Hello.” He sounds breathless and Mickey catches himself holding his breath as well.</p><p>“Hey, Ian, it’s Mickey.” <em> Oh, Jesus. Of course it’s me. He knows who the fuck I am.  </em></p><p>“Hey!” Ian exclaims acting like Mickey’s call is somehow a surprise.</p><p>“Um…” Even after deliberating over this for hours, Mickey still isn’t sure how to start this conversation.</p><p>“I’m sorry again for texting you like that.” Ian saves him from having to start the conversation, but jumps them right into the fire.</p><p>“It’s okay.” Mickey says it and means it. “It was… uh, nice. I mean, I appreciated it. I’m fine.”</p><p>He hears Ian let out a long breath. “Good. I’m glad you’re okay.”</p><p>There is a silence on both ends that feels like forever, but is probably only a few seconds.</p><p>“Well, I am <em> really </em> sorry about what I said, Mickey,” Ian finally offers.</p><p>“I know, Ian.” Mickey is surprised by how easily he responds.</p><p>“I don’t feel that way. I never have.” </p><p>“Ian, you don’t—”</p><p>“No, I do.” Ian cuts him off. “I need you to know that I never blamed you for any of it. Even after you kicked my ass that day. I never blamed you and I never thought you were a coward. You know how I felt about you then. I still—”</p><p>“Don’t.” Mickey stops him from saying more, it’s already too immense, too heavy. “Ian, you don’t have to say anything else. I know you didn’t mean it and I know you don’t feel that way. But I can’t talk about…” He lets out a nervous breath, attempting to control his breathing a little so this doesn’t get out of hand. “I don’t think I can talk about all of that right now.”</p><p>“I just want things to be better, Mickey. That’s all.” </p><p>“I know. I just need some time, Ian. To figure out how to handle this.”</p><p>“What is ‘this’?” Ian asks.</p><p>“This is… you… and me. I guess.” </p><p>Ian’s breath hitches and Mickey wonders if he’s said the wrong thing. Wonders if he’s leading Ian into thinking he is saying more than he actually means, or that it’s more than what Ian actually wants. Then he realizes he doesn't even know what Ian actually wants.</p><p>“Not to say there is a you and me, like you know… I mean… fuck I don't know, Ian. I don't understand what's happening here.” Mickey has a sudden burst of honesty. “I don’t know why you’re here or what you want.”</p><p>“I'm here because of you, Mickey. I'm here because I want to be where you are. I always have.”</p><p>“Ian…” Mickey’s voice is breathy and he feels like he’s losing himself in the moment.</p><p>“No, listen. It doesn't mean we have to go back to what we had before. I know we can't anyway—it’s been so long, we’re different people now. But I want you in my life. I've fucking missed you for <em> so </em>long.” </p><p>Ian sounds like he's going to cry and it makes Mickey feel sick. He wants to tell him to come over. He wants to hold him, hug him, whisper in his ear that it's okay. He wants to run his hand down Ian’s back and feel Ian's lips on his neck. Mickey wants to smell his cheap shampoo and Old Spice and sweat, and he wants to comfort him for all he’s feeling, all he’s gone through, all the ways Ian’s been hurt. But he's just really scared that it will turn into something else he can’t handle. Something his body reacts to in fear once again. Mickey isn't sure what to do, but he can't see Ian right now.</p><p>“Hey, look we just need to take some time. Okay? I know we got things we need to talk about, but I'm not ready yet, Ian.” Another dose of honesty.</p><p>“Okay,” Ian says quietly. “I get it. But maybe…” Ian pauses and Mickey lets him, not trying to fill the silence. “Maybe we can at least try to be friends.”</p><p>“You think we can be friends?” Mickey feels skeptical and sounds it too.</p><p>“You don't think we can?”</p><p>“I don't know. We've never been friends before.” Mickey lets out a small laugh. </p><p>“No, I guess not.” Ian returns the laugh, but then his voice drops. “We've been everything else though.” His voice is suggestive and Mickey feels a twitch in his dick that he wishes wasn’t there. </p><p>“Ian…” Mickey says in a cautionary way, but he lets out a rough breath, revealing himself and his arousal.</p><p>“What?” Ian tries to play innocent, but he fails miserably.</p><p>“Let's just put the breaks on that, alright?” Mickey finally says.</p><p>“Alright, fine.” There is a beat of silence. “But do you think we can try to be friends?”</p><p>And it breaks Mickey’s heart. Ian sounds young and sweet and it reminds him of the fourteen year old freckled faced boy he once knew, that he had almost forgotten, and it just squeezes his heart until it feels like it might burst. Mickey has a rush of thoughts that are laced with regret. Ian was right, he had let his father ruin everyone and everything around him. His father had ruined his sister. Had ruined his brothers. But maybe that boy who is now an adult on the other end of the line wasn't completely ruined after all. Maybe there is something left. So, maybe Mickey isn’t completely ruined either.</p><p>“Yeah, I do,” Mickey says, but he isn't convinced. “We can try to be friends. But I'm not making any promises.”</p><p>“Okay, Mickey.” Ian sounds happy, his voice almost singing, when he starts to hear what he is sure is the sheer pandemonium of the Gallagher house in the background. Some things never change. “I—I gotta go.” Ian sounds like he is about to get caught up in whatever is blowing through where he is. “I'll see you on Monday.”</p><p>“Yeah, I’ll see you.”</p><p>“Bye, Mickey.”</p><p>“Bye, Ian.” And they both hang up.</p><p>What a fucking ordeal. He feels full of tension, but in an unexpected turn of events, he does not feel anxious. Mickey appreciates this and hopes that it continues to be the case, but his hope is cautious.</p><p>Mickey pulls out his drawing of Ian from earlier, marveling at the fact that it is a whole other level up from the rest of his drawings. He's thought about colored pencils many times, but this is the first time he feels like he needs them. Because he really needs to light that hair on fire and make those intense eyes glow green. So he pulls out his phone and orders the ones he had his eye on. </p><p>"Hmpf," he grouses looking at his representation of the ginger he had just gotten off the phone with. "Not bad." He looks at the sexy contours of his body and the deep sultry, but sad stare and Mickey can't help but grow firm in his pants. </p><p>Mickey feels like there might be something ridiculous about getting turned on by a drawing he drew, but it's less about it being a good drawing and more about it being Ian. And before he knows it, he's running his fingertips over his nipples, rubbing and pinching them, making them hard and erect while he stares at the picture in front of him. Then he closes his eyes and sees that bright, glowing hair, and square jaw and long slender fingers.</p><p>Mickey reaches down and runs his hand over the growing bulge in his pants. "Fuck," he breathes out, and feels himself let the drawing float to the floor, his two dimensional Ian on the ground, and he thinks maybe that’s where he wants the real one—on the ground, on his back, looking up at Mickey, knowing him and wanting to know him more. Know him again. </p><p>Mickey indulges his fantasy this time, and imagines straddling the ginger giant, both bare chested and breathless, Mickey running his palms from Ian’s taut stomach to his hard pecs. Mickey dreams of trailing his tongue from his belly button to Ian’s clavicle and scraping his teeth along the definition of his collarbone. Mickey can practically hear Ian’s breath hitch when he thinks about sinking his teeth into Ian's neck. </p><p>Mickey’s cock is now erect and he pulls down his gray sweat pants and boxer briefs in one fluid movement without opening his eyes. No longer confined by clothing, his erection springs up and he feels the weight of his hardness on his stomach. He feels warm and he imagines Ian rolling them over and his cock being trapped between them, Ian’s weight causing the delicious friction he is craving.</p><p>Inside the found-on-the-side-of-the-road night stand Mickey roots around for his lube and once he has found it, inspects each toy in there to decide which one he thinks will satisfy him best. He settles on a clear silicone dildo that he bought months ago, but has only used a few times. It is eight inches long and he can’t quite close his fist around it. It’s smooth and feels cool to the touch. He lays it next to him on the bed as he kicks off his pants and boxers the rest of the way. Mickey squirts lube on his hand and immediately goes to slick up his cock, running his hand up and down the length of it. He closes his eyes and sighs, hearing the filthy wet sound of his hand covering himself with lube and further hardening his cock. </p><p>Some of the lubrication slides down onto Mickey’s balls and he plants his feet on the mattress, lifting his pelvis slightly then running his palm over them. His breathing changes and grows more uneven and shallow. Tilting his head back he moans softly as he runs his fingers up his balls and then wraps his fist around his shaft again, running it up and down and then to the head of his cock, where he runs his palm in a circular motion, spreading his precum all over it and mixing it with the lube as he drags his palm once again down his erection.</p><p>Seeing Ian behind his closed lids, with his flaming red hair and wide pink lips, Mickey starts to pinch at his nipples again with his free hand, and he feels Ian moving on top of him, licking at his nipples and nibbling at them. He groans, and sees Ian sliding his body up and down Mickey’s, their cocks lining up against each other, smearing lube and precum on his stomach. He opens his legs and wants to feel this other Ian, not the two dimensional one or the fully adult live human Ian, but the imaginary Ian, the fantasy Ian, between his thick thighs.</p><p>Mickey wants the stiffness of Ian’s cock up against his own erection and in his hand and pushing on his hole. He wants all of that and trails his hand down to his ass and parts his cheeks so he can run the tip of his finger around the tight band of muscles. He teases himself for a second, but then plunges in one of his fingers, hissing slightly at the burn, but also amused at his own reaction—like he had surprised himself. He fingers his hole while continuing to stroke his cock and picturing Ian now on his knees in front of him, running his lips and up and down his length and fucking Mickey open with his long alien-like fingers. Mickey introduces another finger and he slowly scissors himself, thinking of Ian, seeing Ian, feeling Ian. He isn’t sure if he is totally ready or not, but he is losing patience and wants to feel something inside of him. He knows what that something is, but for now, the silicone dildo that has been warming next to his body will do.</p><p>Mickey slicks it up with lube, and he is excited and a little intimidated because not only has he not had a cock in his ass for at least three weeks, but he also hadn’t exactly been bagging any well-endowed fags before that. It was actually a sad state of affairs. </p><p>Mickey spreads his legs and reaches down between them. He pushes the head of the dildo against his hole and the pressure makes Mickey moan. Mickey slowly starts to fuck himself with only a few inches in, but he feels himself stretching and the slight burn feels delicious. He keeps pushing more and more of the silicone cock into his hole, twisting it at one point, making himself gasp. Mickey finally takes it to the hilt and he sighs, feeling full and somewhat accomplished. </p><p>He starts to move the toy in and out—slowly at first, but he picks up the pace, stroking his cock to the same rhythm. And Ian is there thrusting into him, putting his wet lips on his neck. His imaginary Ian. The ghost of Ian. Fantasy Ian.</p><p>"Unh," Mickey groans as he angles the dildo slightly, starting to hit his prostate, causing him to quicken the movement of his hand over his cock. He pictures Ian bending him over now, holding tightly to his hips, ramming inside of him, hitting his sweet spot over and over. He feels his balls tighten up and the pull in his stomach tells him it'll all be over soon. </p><p>Ian is on his back again in Mickey's fantasy and he straddles Ian, lowering himself down on him roughly. He pounds himself with the dildo with a frenzied pace as he pictures himself riding Ian's cock, his pale muscular chest beneath him, Mickey sinking his fingers into his pecs as he hits his prostate over and over. Fantasy Ian’s hands gripping Mickey’s ass cheeks roughly, helping him fuck into him. The pace gets faster and faster and becomes rough and off beat, and Mickey feels himself far from in control.</p><p>"Oh, fuck, Ian," Mickey exclaims as his cock explodes into his hand and across his stomach. He pants raggedly, his heart racing and his body shaking slightly. He pulls the dildo from inside of him and he opens his eyes, finally feeling his breathing slow to a more normal pace. </p><p>Mickey gets off the bed and cleans himself up. He tidies up around his room too and remembers he brought home dessert. Mickey settles back in his bed with his piece of chocolate cream pie and he wonders if he should feel guilty for thinking about Ian while he got off. He doesn't think he should, but he finds it weird, and maybe a little frustrating that he was able to get that involved in the fantasy, that explicit, and that his body reacted in a welcoming way as opposed to how it did when he had the real deal in front of him. </p><p>Mickey knows that's more than he can actually handle right now, a question that's too deep, and he just wants to enjoy his post-orgasm pie before he has to get ready for tomorrow. But he wonders if he can open up about this enough to tell Maria. He wonders if he can be honest with her on Monday when he sees her and he isn't really sure, but he thinks he should try.</p><p>Mickey lets out a satisfied breath of air and decides that pie definitely tastes better after coming all over yourself.</p><p>***</p><p>Mickey is picked up Sunday morning by Ana and Willie’s oldest grandson, Tre, who Mickey has probably spent the most time with out of the adult grandchildren. Tre seems to be around more and is always helping Ana and Willie around the house. It is also how Mickey had ended up spending so much time with Jenny, who was Tre’s daughter and always seemed to be right at his heels.  Mickey is a little worried that Tre is going to give him shit just like Ana did, so he cautiously gets in the car.</p><p>“Hey, man,” Tre greets him warmly and they bump fists. “Howya doin’?”</p><p>“I’m good, thanks.” Mickey smiles and tries to let out an anxious breath without the other man seeing him. “How you been?”</p><p>“I’m good.” Tre looks way more like Willie than even any of his children do, blue eyes and everything and he thinks that it must be how Willie looked when he was younger. “Baby’s about to turn a year old. We’re gonna have a birthday party in a few weeks. You gonna be there?”</p><p>“Oh, uh, sure.” Mickey is taken aback even though he shouldn’t be. “As long as I can make it.”</p><p>“Yeah, you got something going on?” Tre asks.</p><p>Mickey can’t gauge his tone and feels like the question is weird, but at the same time he knows that Tre is aware that Mickey hasn’t missed a single family event he has been invited to in the last nine months, so this really isn’t that weird.</p><p>“Oh, well, I just reconnected with one of my brothers, so we’ve been, uh, trying to spend more time together,” Mickey offers. It isn’t a lie, so he feels okay about it.</p><p>“That’s really cool, man.” Tre says with a big genuine smile, and he even sounds like Willie when he says it. “I’m really happy for you. I don’t know what I would do without my crazy ass family. You know you always have us, Mickey, but I’m sure it’s not the same.”</p><p>It’s not. It’s not the same as his family. And that has been a really good thing for the better part of a year. </p><p>“Not the same, but it’s been really good being around you guys,” Mickey admits and wonders if random honesty is his new thing. </p><p>“We’ve loved having you around. And, man, Jenny is out of her mind excited to see you. She’s been talking about you all morning.”</p><p>Mickey laughs, maybe a little nervously, but if so, Tre doesn’t seem to notice. “I’m excited to see her too. It’s been a minute.”</p><p>“Yeah, it has. And…” Tre hesitates.</p><p>“What?” Mickey asks.</p><p>“My grandma’s on a warpath. She’s convinced that Grandpa did something to upset you and that’s why you haven’t been around for the last few weeks.”</p><p>“Shit.” By avoiding Ana and the family, all he had succeeded in doing was upsetting her and a five year old, and broadcasting to the whole family that something was going on. “No, it’s not like that. I’ve just been having a hard time lately.”</p><p>“I’m sorry to hear that, Mickey.” Tre says it and Mickey believes that he means it. “You know if you need anything, you should never hesitate to ask me and Georgia.” Tre turns his head for a split second and Mickey can tell he means it, and he wonders if he could actually ask Tre and his wife for something, anything, and he isn’t sure. But hearing him say that makes him feel good inside, if not a little awkward.</p><p>“Thanks, man, I really appreciate it.”</p><p>“Don’t mention it. I know we may not be your blood family, but you are family. Anyway, if I didn’t do everything I could to help Jenny’s favorite uncle, she’d never speak to me again.”</p><p>Mickey smiles shyly and turns to look out the window for the rest of the drive.</p><p>They arrive at the house a short time later and Mickey feels butterflies in his stomach, not sure what to expect on the other side of the door.</p><p>“Tio Mickey!” Jenny shouts as she runs up and wraps herself around one of Mickey’s legs as soon as he walks into the house. The emotion that he feels almost knocks him over, not expecting to be greeted this way, and feeling like he doesn’t deserve it. </p><p>“Hey, squirt, how you doin’?” Mickey peels the five year old raven-haired girl off of his leg and swings her up into his arms.</p><p>“I got a kitten,” She announces as she puts one arm around his neck.</p><p>“You did, huh? What’s his name?”</p><p>“Her!” Jenny corrects and seems offended that he somehow didn’t know her kitten was a girl.</p><p>“Oh, sorry. Of course it’s a her,” Mickey says. “What’s her name?”</p><p>“Her name is Flower,” she announces.</p><p>“That’s a good name for a cat.”</p><p>“She’s a kitten.”</p><p>“Sorry, kitten. Flower the kitten.”</p><p>“That’s right.” Jenny nods with a huge smile. Then she throws both arms around Mickey's neck and hugs him so tightly it actually hurts, and his heart completely melts. </p><p>“It’s about time you show up at my house.” Ana comes into the living room and pulls Mickey in for a hug, Jenny and all. He sees out of the corner of his eye Tre snicker and scoot off away from them.</p><p>“Yes, I’m here,” Mickey says, barely able to breathe.</p><p>“Grandma Ana,” Jenny whines and Ana pulls back and looks at them both. A wide smile stretches across her face and what looks like a tear is forming in her eye.</p><p>“You two get in the kitchen and wash your hands,” Ana orders them. “It’s time to get to work. Jenny, your grandpa is already in there working.” </p><p>Mickey goes stiff and Ana sees it. “Junior is in the kitchen,” she says to Mickey, knowing immediately that he thought she meant Willie.</p><p>Mickey gives a stiff smile and starts to walk toward the kitchen with the kid still in his arms, trying to get away from Ana’s x-ray vision. </p><p>“I can walk!” Jenny insists.</p><p>Mickey puts her down, not wanting to invite the wrath of the five year old, who is obviously full of sass today as usual. “Sorry, kiddo.”</p><p>“I’m not a baby.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“My brother’s a <em>baby</em>,” she says with a look of disgust on her face that makes him want to laugh.</p><p>“You’re right, squirt. Come on let’s go.” Mickey takes her hand and they walk to the kitchen to get to work.</p><p>***</p><p>Ana runs the kitchen like she runs the rest of the house, efficiently and by not taking any shit. She puts the three of them to work immediately, barely giving Mickey any time to exchange greetings with Willie and Ana’s oldest child, Richard, Jr., who they just call Junior and Jenny calls Grandpa Richie. Ana flies around them checking on their progress, telling them if they need to do something differently or scolding them if they are working too slow, praising them if something is done well. When Ana said the whole family was going to be there, he didn’t realize she was serious. Or at least close to it. But they are putting in some hard work and making dinner for an army. Jenny seems to be doing better than either of the men in the kitchen and every time Ana barks at one of them, she puts her two cents in letting them know that they better listen to her Grandma Ana.</p><p>The later it gets in the day more and more people start to show up, each of them coming into the kitchen to greet Ana and the crew. He isn’t as familiar with some of the family members, but he knows most of them and they all either exchange pleasantries with him, greet him warmly or give him shit for being missing for more than two weeks. <em> Fuck </em>, he had no idea that everyone was going to be on his ass. Had they all noticed or had Ana just ranted about it every chance she got to whoever would listen? Maybe both, but he knows that it gives him a combination of feelings that range from embarrassment to genuine affection that he didn’t expect. </p><p>He hadn’t really ever thought about what he may actually mean to them, this huge loud family that he had somehow fallen in with. But it was obviously more than he had known. It feels good, but it also hurts because he doesn’t actually think they would love him if they really knew him. He doesn’t think he’s worthy of their overabundance of affection or missing him when he’s gone. He can hear his therapist asking him why he thinks that and he can hear Audre telling him that’s bullshit, but it’s how he feels and he doesn’t know how to let that go.</p><p>By the time they are done cooking the house is full of people of all different ages, shapes and sizes, and it feels like it is going to bust at the seams. Ana assembles a crew of five adolescent grandkids to start setting the tables—one kids’ table and the main dining room table that has been expanded to accommodate as many people as possible. Mickey’s interactions with teenagers in general are limited, but he still thinks it’s remarkable how not one of them even thinks to talk back or complain once, falling in line as they are told and getting to work. With all of the food out and the places set, drinks served and children situated, they all sit down to eat.</p><p>The vibrant pulse of the family around the dinner table fills the whole house. Their loud arguing—sometimes in what Mickey thinks you would call Spanglish—as well as their teasing and laughter, makes the air swirl with life and Mickey stops and sits back to observe what he now realizes he has been taking for granted. The house is alive, with Ana at the heart, and he observes her observing everyone else, waiting to see if she needs to intervene or if there are some words that someone needs to hear, or to make sure everyone is eating. She never holds back and she is honest and tough, but there is no doubt she loves all of them and he is amazed that one person can actually have the capacity to love so many people. Even her children’s wives and husbands pay deference to her and there is no doubt she is the matriarch of this wiley bunch, and they are very lucky to have her. Mickey thinks he is too and is upset with himself for ignoring that.</p><p>Mickey has managed to avoid Willie this whole time, and he refuses to look at him. For his part, Willie has respected Mickey’s space and has let him be, but Mickey worries that it will only cause Ana to be more suspicious. However, at this point, it’s too late because Mickey and Willie haven’t said one word to each other since he has arrived.</p><p>“Dad! I don’t understand anything you’re saying,” one of the teen granddaughters whines to her father, Ana and Willie’s son, Tony. “It’s not English or Spanish. Make up your mind.”</p><p>“None of my kids know Spanish, mija,” Ana says as she moves around collecting plates. “They only know how to ask for food, count to ten and cuss.”</p><p>“Come on, Ma!” Tony throws up his arms. “That’s not our fault.”</p><p>“Maybe if you hadn’t married a white guy,” a different teenager chimes in.</p><p>“Watch how you talk to your grandmother!”</p><p>And Mickey loses track of who is saying what, but it is loud and chaotic and hilarious.</p><p>“It’s true, Grandpa Willie’s white.”</p><p>“Shut your smartass mouth.”</p><p>“How do you cuss in Spanish?”</p><p>“My dad is white like Grandpa Willie.”</p><p>"How do you say 'shit'?"</p><p>"Caca."</p><p>"No, 'mierda'."</p><p>"Both are right."</p><p>"That's gross. Watch your mouths."</p><p>“My mommy is white!”</p><p>“All of us are part white.”</p><p>“That’s stupid.”</p><p>“You two stop it.”</p><p>“I’m brown like Grandma Ana.”</p><p>“Can I learn to cuss in Spanish?”</p><p>“None of us were allowed to learn Spanish,” Junior speaks above everyone else and it quiets most everyone down a little.”</p><p>“Why?” yet another teenager asks.</p><p>“Because back then the schools discouraged families from speaking Spanish to their kids at home. We were only supposed to speak English,” Willie finally speaks up.</p><p>“You can’t speak Spanish anyway, Dad,” their youngest daughters Alicia adds.</p><p>“Yeah, but Mama couldn’t stop cussing in Spanish so that’s why we all know how to do that so well,” says the oldest daughter, Amalia, and the table erupts in laughter again.</p><p>“Alright, very funny.” Ana stands up. “I want all three Richards to get their asses up and help me clear plates. </p><p>“Three Richards?” Mickey says out loud without meaning to, and he sees Willie, Junior, and Tre all get up. Mickey used to always forget that Willie’s first name is actually Richard and “Willie” is a nickname he picked up many years ago from his last name Williams, but after being around the family so many months, it no longer shocked him. This current situation, however, was confusing.</p><p>Jenny is all of a sudden at Mickey’s side, up from the little kids table to tell him what’s up. “My daddy’s name is Richard. Don’t you know that, Tio Mickey?” She raises her arms so he can put her on his lap and he obliges.</p><p>“It’s true, I’m Richard the third.” Tre stands with mock regality and several wadded up napkins come flying at his head from multiple directions indicating that there were at least three people tired of this joke.</p><p>“Where does ‘Tre’ come from then?” Mickey asks, confused.</p><p>“He’s the third. Uno, dos, tres.” Jenny counts on her fingers and puts them in Mickey’s face.</p><p>“We called him ‘Tres’ for the first year, but Richie somehow thought that was too many letters and dropped it to ‘Tre’.” Junior’s wife, Mary, tells Mickey, getting a wry look from her husband.</p><p>“So, all three of you are named Richard, but none of you go by Richard?” Mickey asks.</p><p>“I guess so,” Willie says and the three men look at each other and laugh. Mickey would have probably joined them, but looking at Willie made him lose his sense of humor. <em> Yep, still pissed at him. </em></p><p>“Mama, quiero un pinché pastel de tres leches,” Alicia calls across the table in Spanish and all of the adults and a few of the kids erupt into laughter again, and Mickey has learned enough Spanish at this point to join in the laughter as well.</p><p>***</p><p>It’s after dinner and Mickey is sneaking a smoke on the back porch when Ana comes through the door and sits on the steps next to him, plucking his cigarette from his fingers and taking a drag. He looks down and sees her little old hand poked tattoos on her hands and arms, the ink bleeding into the weathered skin, the elasticity having given way to age many years before, and he wonders what the story is behind each one. He looks up at her face and thinks that she is beautiful and fierce, and he feels so sad for making her worry about him.</p><p>"What's going on with you, Guerito? Huh?" she asks.</p><p>Mickey lets out a puff of air and rests his chin on his knees.</p><p>"You missing the life?" Ana asks him casually.</p><p>"What? No. Never." He shakes his head, surprised she is asking him if he misses his life of ripping and running, maiming and slinging, which he absolutely did not.</p><p>"You look haunted," she says bluntly.</p><p>It knocks the wind from him because that's exactly how he has been feeling for days, but the word hasn't found its way to him, not with that kind of force anyway. Hearing it come from someone else’s mouth, truly makes it real and fleshed out. </p><p>"And you are having trouble looking at Willie. I don't know if it's related, but if that asshole did something to hurt you, I'm sorry. He's not a perfect man. Far from it, but he loves you, Mickey. We both do. You are family. I wish you believed that."</p><p>"I do." She looks at him, with a mother's gaze. He can't lie to her. He can lie by omission, but he can't verbally tell her a lie. "I mean… I want to believe it."</p><p>Ana puts her wiry, but strong arm around his shoulder and pulls him in. "I know, Mijo. You spend so much time used to not having this kind of love it's hard to believe it's real."</p><p>"How—"</p><p>"Oh, Mickey." Ana smiles and shakes her head. "I've had a hard life that for a long time was full of people that had nothing but abuse and pain in their lives. Including me. Why do you think I started having babies with that asshole drug addict when I was seventeen? We loved each other. We both needed love. We couldn't find it anywhere else. And we loved the babies and they loved us. So we kept having babies." She laughs. They both laugh.</p><p>"We were such a mess for so long,” she continues. “Didn't know how to live or be adults or even how to be married. Other people would have said goodbye a long time ago, but we were all we had. Willie is my best friend, and we made a mess together and cleaned it up together. The most important, most precious thing we have is this family." She reaches up and touches his face, cups his cheek and he doesn't flinch. He lets her. Her hands are calloused, but it feels gentle and warm. "You are precious to us, Mickey. You are part of this family. One day you'll know." </p><p>She drops her hand, but keeps her arm around him. He has the urge to lay his head on her shoulder, but he holds back, afraid of the intimacy of it, this moment already surpassing any type of physical comfort or affection he has gotten from anyone in many, many years. But it doesn't overwhelm him and they sit quietly watching the sunset.</p><p>“One day,” she says.</p><p>Mickey closes his eyes and feels the warm glow of the last few rays of sunlight heat his face. Ana’s strong grip makes him feel safe and he gives in to the calm security of the moment, to the pulsing joy of a huge loud family and the no-nonsense rule of a loving matriarch, to the completely foreign feeling of so many people caring that he hasn’t been around, and the feeling that there are people out there that have so much love in their hearts that, even though they have so many children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren that Mickey can’t even keep track of who is who, they still have more room in their hearts for him. </p><p>He gives in to all of that and finally rests his head on Ana’s shoulder, who doesn’t say a word, but instead smooths down his hair gently and kisses the top of his muddle and tired head.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello Everyone-</p><p>I am posting later than usual, but it's still Sunday where I am, so technically it counts.</p><p>I want to start by saying that I am not going to be posting again for two weeks. I have some family events coming up and I don't want to rush the next chapter. I want to make sure it is polished and ready and that wouldn't happen if I were to try to post next Sunday. So, please expect the next post on Sunday October 18th.</p><p>For this chapter I wanted to give you a glossary of the Spanish and Spanish slang that is used in this chapter.</p><p>Mija/mijo:  A colloquial contraction that usually means "my daughter" or "my son", but people often use it as a term of endearment for grandchildren and people they consider like their children. </p><p>Pendejo:  The literal translation is not what I'm using here, so I'll let you look that up on your own. There are a few different ways it is used in slang, but for our purposes, Ana is calling Willie and Mickey assholes.</p><p>Tío:  Uncle</p><p>Guero:  Slang for white boy</p><p>Guerito:  Little white boy</p><p>The translation of the sentence "Mama, quiero un pinché pastel de tres leches.": Mama, I want a fucking tres leches cake. This includes all the things that Ana says her kids know in Spanish.</p><p>On a side note, tres leches cake is amazing if made right and I suggest you try it if you ever get the chance.</p><p>Thank you all for reading. Remember to take care and be kind to yourselves.</p><p>💖,</p><p>Chat Noir</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It's Monday and Mickey is taking a late morning break, smoking in the alley and drinking some muddy coffee Damon made. He had slept hard the night before, and had gotten a full night's sleep. No nightmares to speak of. But he was still exhausted from the weekend and was having difficulty focusing, so he was reluctantly gulping down the swill in his cup in hopes of some chemical boost. </p><p>Mickey had started work early that morning on the Chevelle and hated to admit it was getting closer to being finished. Truth be told, he was almost positive she'd be drivable probably by the end of the week. She wouldn't be where Audre wanted her to be so he would happily have her for at least another week or two after that, but then it would be time to hand her over to Audre and he would be without his biggest and most rewarding coping mechanism. He didn’t really want to think about it because it made him a little afraid and very sad.</p><p>Ian had texted him early in the morning asking Mickey if he would be okay with Ian coming in before seven. Turning on his phone and seeing Ian's name at the crack of dawn had made his tummy do little flip flops, which he quickly admonished himself for.  </p><p><b>Mickey</b>: Do what you want man</p><p><b>Ian</b>: Great! Thanks, Mickey.</p><p><em> Ugh. Too enthusiastic at five-thirty in the morning. </em> Mickey had been nervous to see Ian. There had been no texting or anything since their phone conversation Saturday night, but when Ian got there he was cheerful and didn't try to talk about anything heavy or get too close, he didn't seem to have any ulterior motive other than just getting an early start. Well, he was fishing for Mickey to show him what he was doing on the Chevelle, but he didn't get flirty or make any suggestive comments or look at him with that <em> fucking </em>look. </p><p>That look. The one that set it all off the other night. The one that looked a hell of a lot like a look he had seen on Ian’s fourteen year old freckle-face—puppy dog eyed and all—some nine years before. It was enamored and kinda goofy. A look that spelled want and need and admiration. Fuck, if Mickey didn't die a little every time he saw that look in his mind. No one had ever looked at him like that. No one but Ian. </p><p>Mickey realizes that look makes him feel like no time has passed between then and now. Like Ian is still fourteen, almost fifteen, and Mickey is sixteen again. Like they were still in each other's lives and nothing shitty had happened yet. Nothing horrible had passed between them or been part of their lives. Nothing tragic had happened to either of them individually yet. No prison or beatings or mental institutions. No sugar daddies or murderous fathers. No suffering together. No suffering alone. None of it existed. But then what <em> did </em>exist—what had come to pass—would start to creep in and he would feel his throat close and a pain in his chest and he would have to let it go. That look—so innocent and sweet, bright and inviting—might just be the death of him. </p><p>However, he has to admit he is a little disappointed he didn't see it that morning, but it was for the best, he knew. Mickey wasn’t ready to deal with it’s dewey honesty, and if Ian had just given him one small hint of it, he probably would have gone over the edge. Maybe. Probably. As it was, by the time he and Ian had been working together for half an hour he had already become kinda sweaty and looking at Ian places he shouldn't be looking when he hoped Ian wasn't paying attention. Probably fucked that up. Who knows.</p><p>They had worked side by side, Mickey giving instructions and letting Ian do some hands on work with cautious observation, and it felt like it had gone well. Ian had seemed to really absorb what Mickey was telling him, and he also looked interested, almost fascinated by how the explanations unfolded in front of him. Mickey, for his part, felt a sense of pride around being able to explain what he had learned and been practicing. He hadn’t really had the chance to do that before except with maybe Audre, who already seemed to know a lot about what he was talking about and didn’t need a ton of information broken down. Teaching Ian was giving him the opportunity to see and acknowledge that he really knew what he was doing and that his knowledge allowed him to be able to articulate it. It felt really good and Ian would smile every time he got something and was able to explain it back.</p><p>"You're a really good teacher, Mickey," Ian had said sincerely, wiping his forehead on the back of his forearm and smiling.</p><p>"Um, thanks," Mickey said, feeling shy all of a sudden. </p><p>"I mean it. The way you explain things makes so much more sense. Enzo's not great with breaking things down enough for me, and Rita-Mae… uh… well, she scares me. So, I have trouble listening to her."</p><p>Mickey let out a loud laugh. He couldn't help himself, and Ian turned red. </p><p>"I'm sorry," Mickey told him. "I'm not making fun of you. First, Enzo is a shit mechanic, so no way he could explain himself out of a paper bag. And second, you'll get used to Rita. She's a fuckin’ great mechanic. I learned a lot from her. She's just efficient and doesn't like small talk. And she's tough, but fair. She's a good boss, and as long as you’re doing what you need to do and not fuckin' around, you’ll be fine. Give it a chance.”</p><p>“Th-thanks, Mickey." Ian looked down at his feet, also seeming shy.</p><p>“For what?”</p><p>“Giving me a chance to learn.”</p><p>Mickey felt his heart squeeze and realized he could have really ruined this for Ian. And glad he didn't and hoped he doesn't. And Mickey hoped Ian doesn't fuck this up for him either. That's a lot of hope. </p><p>Mickey stared at the top of Ian’s head, <em> hoping </em> he would look up, and when he finally did, Mickey’s breath hitched. The shy, vulnerable look on Ian’s face cut through the thin barrier that Mickey had tried to put up that morning. Shy, vulnerable, confused, and a little bit afraid. Mickey wished he didn’t see any fear in those eyes at all because it twisted his heart some more and he wanted to hug him, hold him next to him. It wasn’t <em> the </em>look, but it was a look that did things to him he didn’t know how to deal with nonetheless.</p><p>“You deserve it,” Mickey said it and meant it. “You deserve a chance.”</p><p>Before Ian was able to respond, Rita-Mae walked in. She stopped in her tracks, raised an eyebrow at them and then kept walking to the office. Mickey felt—no he was sure—that Rita-Mae could see everything written all over his face and it made him nervous. He wasn’t sure why, but he wasn’t ready for anyone to know anything about Ian and how he fit into his past. He wasn’t even ready to know all of it himself, so he certainly didn’t want anyone else privy to the information. Mickey had gotten them back on task on the Chevelle, avoiding any more of the conversation that could have gone a number of ways before Rita-Mae had come in. He was actually really grateful she had.</p><p>The rest of the morning, Ian worked with Rita-Mae, and Mickey ran diagnostics on a few cars. Mickey hated having to use electronics to be able to diagnose and repair the cars, and had actually dreamed several times of being able to one day work exclusively on classic cars. Cars that were made before they started putting "brains" in them. Cars that were made of more steel and chrome than plastic and rubber. Cars that he could look at and listen to and feel and he would know what was wrong. He wasn’t that good yet. Mickey knew that, but he was getting there, and those are the types of cars he wanted to work on. </p><p>He definitely had this dream, but had not once ever thought it was a real and true possibility; it seemed too far away, too out of his reach, but as he was running the diagnostic on a 2015 Mustang GT, and he was looking over and seeing Ian under the hood of a car with Rita-Mae, and he was thinking about maybe having a family—blood and chosen—and friends and a job, he realized that his life might be full of things he didn’t think were ever going to be possible for him. But they probably were. So maybe having a dream wasn’t as dangerous as he always believed it to be. Maybe not now. Maybe not anymore.</p><p>Mickey had finished up his work, and was dragging ass, so he made the decision to pour the mud coffee from the pot in the break room. He should have gone up and made a cup in his room, but didn’t and instantly regretted his decision. Regardless, he was now propped up in the alley, trying to come alive so he could get a little more work done before the afternoon, and feeling a little anxiety mixed with weariness, hoping he could calm down and it not get the better of him.</p><p>“Milkovich.” Rita-Mae turns the corner and props herself up on the wall next to him in the alley. She rarely smoked with the rest of the crew, usually avoiding spending time with any of them that wasn’t necessary, so it’s surprising and he suspects she is going to do more than just smoke with him as she starts to light up.</p><p>“Hey, Boss.” Mickey lifts the corner of his mouth and gives a smile that ends up looking like he’s constipated.</p><p>“So, what’s with you and copper-top?” She is blunt and to the point and Mickey almost chokes.</p><p>“What?” He is shrill and it hurts his ears to hear his own voice.</p><p>“Something is obviously going on.”</p><p>“Nothing is going on,” he says too quickly and he knows he’s lying. Does she know he’s lying?</p><p>“You’re attracted to him.” Rita-Mae says soberly, not once looking at Mickey.</p><p>“Fuck off with that.”</p><p> “Please.” She rolls her eyes. “That better not be why you’ve been such an asshole to Willie.” She turns and makes eye contact with him this time. “There’s nothing goin’ on there anyway, but even if there was, it wouldn’t give you the right to be talking to him the way you’ve been talking to him.” Her jaw is set and he sees anger in her eyes for a split second. Just a flash and it’s gone.</p><p>He shivers slightly and turns away from her gaze and takes a drag. Mickey can’t say anything else. He doesn’t even know what to say anyway. He isn’t stupid and he gets why she would be angry. He knows she is loyal to Willie and would probably kill for him. Then he wonders if she’s ever killed anyone, but that isn’t something he’s ever planning to ask her. They smoke in silence for most of the rest of her cigarette and enough time for him to light up his second.</p><p>Rita-Mae pushes off the wall and turns around to look at him once more. “Anyway, I thought I told you to get your shit together.” She puts the cigarette out and crosses her arms.</p><p>Mickey lets out a long exhale and shakes his head. “I'm trying. I’m better. I am.” He feels like he’s whining and maybe he is. “It's just so much that doesn't make sense.” </p><p>“Like what?” She isn’t challenging him. It is an honest question and he sees some of her concern that was there many days before.</p><p>“Me. My life.” Mickey searches for the words, but there really <em> is </em>so much that doesn’t make sense that it’s hard to pinpoint. “Other people.” Mickey shrugs and looks at her almost as if he were asking for help.</p><p>“Shit.” She almost smiles and is shaking her head. “People don't make sense, Mickey. Only cars make sense.”</p><p>Mickey feels like she’s right.</p><p>Before their conversation can go any further, and maybe it wasn’t going to anyway, Audre pops into the alley from inside the garage.</p><p>“Hey.” Mickey smiles. “I didn't know you were coming.”</p><p>“That's ‘cos I didn't tell you.” Audre seems to have some extra sass today.</p><p>“You wanna look at the Chevelle? I got a lot of work done this morning.”</p><p>“I do,” Audre gives him double finger guns and it looks silly, “but that's not why I'm here.”</p><p>Mickey looks over and sees Rita-Mae doing a weird thing with her face where her teeth are showing. <em> Holy crap. </em> It's not just a smile, it's a toothy bright smile that travels up to her hazel eyes as she looks at Audre. <em> Fucking heart eyes. </em></p><p>"Hey." Audre is looking at Rita-Mae and using a sultry voice. It shocks Mickey and he is embarrassed that he is existing here right now.</p><p>Rita-Mae opens her arms and brings Audre against her for a hug. "Hey, yourself," she says into Audre's bushy orange hair. And they hold on a little longer than Mickey would like. If he wasn't so uncomfortable he could look at them objectively and see how striking they were together and how they glowed looking at each other, but he is <em> incredibly </em>uncomfortable because his dear friend is getting cuddled in the alley by his boss, so all of that truth about them is definitely only going to be noticed upon reflection.</p><p>Audre pulls away, but they don't disconnect, she keeps her hands on Rita-Mae's hips, who in turn has a hand on Audre’s shoulder. They both turn their heads to look at him. </p><p>"She's here for me, Milkovich," Rita-Mae says with a smirk. <em> She's smirking at me. What. The. Fuck. </em></p><p>"We're going to lunch." Audre gently shoves Rita-Mae off and gives her a big smile. They make eye contact and have an unspoken exchange, and Mickey doesn’t like that either, which is ridiculous because he knew this might happen. He had even told Rita-Mae Audre was asking about her, but maybe he didn’t know how he would feel. How does he feel? <em> Man, this is weird. </em></p><p>"Okay, I'm gonna go finish a few things up. I'll be back out in like ten," Rita-Mae tells Audre and then turns to Mickey. "You out this afternoon, Milkovich?"</p><p>"Uh, yeah," Mickey confirms.</p><p>"Alright. Then I'll see you in the morning."</p><p>"O—okay." Mickey feels very confused. She seems friendlier and also—<em> what is that? Smug? And… Happy? Whoa. </em></p><p>Audre snaps her fingers in front of his face. "Hey, snap out of it. You're looking at her like she grew tentacles."</p><p>"Sorry." It comes out more defensively than he means. "I just wasn't expecting to see… you know… You guys… And she's… I mean… "</p><p>"Wow. You're like a twelve year old right now."</p><p>"Shut up." He shoves her lightly in the shoulder. "It's just a surprise that's all, and she looks all weird smiling at you."</p><p>"You're ridiculous." Audre shakes her head. "Speaking of ridiculous, I'm out of smokes. Can I bum one?"</p><p>"Yeah." Mickey pulls out a cigarette and acts like he is going to leave, looking a little like a kicked puppy.</p><p>"Hang out with me for a minute.” Audre pulls him back and he leans against the wall with her.</p><p>"When did this happen?" he asks her.</p><p>"Well, I'm guessing you told her I was asking about her. I was kinda surprised, but also happy you did ‘cos she called me on Tuesday and we went out a few times during the week and then this weekend, you know…"</p><p>"No I don't. I'm good not knowing." Mickey grimaces.</p><p>"Don't be a prude." Audre tsks and shakes her head.</p><p>"Why didn't you tell me?"</p><p>"I was waiting to see what she wanted to do."</p><p>"That's fast though."</p><p>"Is it, dad?"</p><p>"Shut up."</p><p>"We've known each other for years, and I've had a thing for her for a long time, but she was…"</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"Well, don't say anything, but she was with her partner—I mean wife—for years. They broke up like six months ago. I was waiting to—"</p><p>"To swoop in and get on my boss," Mickey says and then can't help but smile.</p><p>"Uh, you're the new one on the scene here, punk. No one is swooping. I was trying to be respectful."</p><p>"Whatever." Mickey rolls his eyes. "I'm sure you've been very respectful."</p><p>"A perfect gentleman." Audre raises her eyebrows.</p><p>"Gross. I don't want to think about it."</p><p>She cackles at him and they both smile, Mickey thinking that he’ll probably be okay with it. Hopefully. </p><p>“I see Ian's here today." Audre changes the subject.</p><p>"Ian's here everyday, Audre. He works here."</p><p>"I know that, you shit. I was just trying to transition the conversation.”</p><p>“Not smooth.”</p><p>“Not my best work. I'll agree.”</p><p>Mickey is quiet for longer than he probably should be and he is debating on what to tell her. He feels like she needs to know there is more because he also needs her to back off a little. But Mickey also doesn’t want her to tell Rita-Mae anything. His understanding of his ability to trust Audre is all of a sudden in question because she is obviously with his boss now, so he doesn’t know what to do.</p><p>He decides to try his new thing: honesty. “When I tell you stuff, it’s still between us, right?”</p><p>“What kinda weird question is that?” Audre looks perplexed.</p><p>“I mean, like when I tell you stuff you aren’t just gonna go tell Rita-Mae because—”</p><p>“Because we’re fucking?”</p><p>“Audre—”</p><p>“What?” She looks at him incredulously. “That’s what you are asking. Mickey, you’re my friend. I am a loyal friend. You’ll learn that. When you say something to me, our friendship is my priority. The power of pussy does not compel me to go against that.” Audre sounds angry and he wants to go back in time to before he said what he said.</p><p>“Jesus Christ, Audre,” Mickey exclaims.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“You said pussy.”</p><p>“I say pussy all the time.”</p><p>“But you’re talk—I mean—”</p><p>“Jesus calm down. You are wound way too tight.” Audre looks hurt. “You really think all of sudden I’m just gonna divulge everything you’ve ever told me to Rita-Mae ‘cos we started seeing each other?”</p><p>“No. Maybe. I don’t know.” Mickey huffs out. “I’m just… afraid?”</p><p>She lets out a deep sigh and rests her head back against the cement exterior, eyes closed and obviously thinking about what he said. “Yeah. Okay. I get that. I can get over myself long enough to see why you would question it. I’d question it too. I’m sorry. I think I overreacted.” Audre turns her head and looks a little ashamed.</p><p>“No, it’s okay. I get it.” Mickey can hear his own voice and it sounds small.</p><p>“Mickey, I promise I would not break your confidence unless I thought you were in danger.”</p><p>“That sounds like something my shrink would say.”</p><p>Audre snorts out a laugh. “Good, she’s legally bound to.”</p><p>The tension is slowly dissipating and Mickey is feeling fidgety, but not wanting to light another cigarette.</p><p>“We have a history,” he blurts out.</p><p>“What? Say that again.” Audre turns and looks at him with furrowed brow.</p><p>“Me and Ian. We have a history.” Mickey can feel his face getting red.</p><p>“Oh shit.” Audre’s eyes widen. “I should have realized it. You're both Southside. And the weird tension between the two of you from the beginning—”</p><p>“It's complicated, Audre.”</p><p>“Most things that matter are.”</p><p>“I didn't say he mattered.” Mickey isn’t sure why he said that, and immediately feels a little sick to his stomach, like he's talking shit about Ian behind his back.</p><p>“History always matters. Doesn't mean it's good or bad or sideways. You have history that obviously affects you enough for you to pretend it doesn't exist. Tell me that doesn't matter.”</p><p>“I hate you sometimes.” </p><p>“I know. I'm fucking annoyingly brilliant.”</p><p>“And so fuckin' humble.”</p><p>“For realsies.” Audre puts out her cigarette and smiles. “What you got goin’ on this afternoon?”</p><p>“Fuckin' Larry and then shrink session.”</p><p>“Fuck yeah. I love Larry stories. I expect a full report. I hope he busts out his ‘feelings cards’.”</p><p>“He better not.” Mickey laughs, horrified, but amused at the possibility of Larry and his excitement around his emotions card game that makes Mickey cringe.</p><p>“You know we don't like to be called shrinks, right?” Audre asks cautiously, looking at him from the corner of her eye.</p><p>“Uh, I mean. Maybe I knew that.” He screws up his face trying to figure it out. “No, I actually hadn't thought about it.” </p><p>“We don’t. Save that shit for psychiatrists and maybe psychologists. Those arrogant pricks deserve that shitty nickname.”</p><p>Mickey looks at her. “You're serious.”</p><p>“Yeah, I'm not offended easily, but I don't like it. It's a derogatory term that started in the sixties. It's supposed to compare therapy to the ritual practice of literally shrinking the heads of killed enemies. 'Head shrinker.' 'Shrink.'” Audre makes air quotes for emphasis.</p><p>“First of all, what the fuck? And second, you sound like a book.”</p><p>“I'm smart sometimes.” She lifts the corner of her mouth, but it doesn’t look like a smile. “And don't call us that.”</p><p>“Okay. Alright, sorry.” He laughs a little nervously.</p><p>Audre studies his face and then nods. “Okay. We're good.” Smiling, she punches his shoulder lightly. Well, not as lightly as she probably thinks.</p><p>“Careful, Tyson.” He laughs, rubbing the sting away from his shoulder.</p><p>“Toughen up, pussy.”</p><p>“Hey, there you go again. Shouldn’t you be offended by that too, Gloria Steinam?"</p><p>"Oh, look who's been reading Ms. Magazine."</p><p>"Ms. What?"</p><p>"Nevermind. And maybe I should be offended, but I'm not."</p><p>"You know that's not very professional language.”</p><p>“Lucky for me I'm not at work. And you need to get off my dick.”</p><p>All signs of the previous tense conversations wash away and they both laugh and smile at each other, and he's suddenly feeling more awake.</p><p>Rita-Mae walks out just then. "Ready?" The timing seems perfect and he wonders if she had been around the corner listening and waiting to make her entrance.</p><p>“Fuck yeah I am.” Audre turns to Mickey. “Good luck this afternoon. Call me if you need to, ok?”</p><p>“Yeah, ok." Mickey smiles and nods.</p><p>"And let's go to my dive sometime in the next few days.”</p><p>“I'd like that.”</p><p>Rita-Mae puts her arm around Audre and pulls her in as they walk away. Then she turns and looks at Mickey and gives a subtle "thank you" and it makes Mickey's heart smile. He realizes he helped make both of them a little happier and that makes him happy—a side effect of the whole situation he did not anticipate. So, maybe it can counterbalance any weirdness he is feeling, and he can focus on the positive aspects of the situation. He thinks he can do that.</p><p>***</p><p>After lunch, Mickey jumps on the L, heading to the parole office. He can’t think of a more depressing place except maybe actual prison and definitely juvie.</p><p>When he gets to the office and checks in, he settles down in a hard plastic chair that he hopes no one has pissed in and sits nervously shaking his right leg until he notices a big hairy dude two seats down staring at him.</p><p>“What?” Mickey stops shaking and looks at him. “You got a problem?”</p><p>The other man is obviously surprised by Mickey's bold confrontation and just grunts and turns away.</p><p>“Making friends everywhere you go, I see.” He turns and right there is Ian <em> fucking </em>Gallagher.</p><p>“Are you kidding me.” Mickey looks up at the towering redhead in front of him, and shakes his head in disbelief.</p><p>“Hey, Mickey.” Ian sits down right next to him despite the fact that there are plenty of seats all around the room.</p><p>“What the fuck are you doing here?” Mickey asks him.</p><p>“What does it look like? I'm seeing my PO,” Ian tells him with a smirk.</p><p>Mickey pulls back and looks at Ian. “Who's your PO?”</p><p>“Larry Seaver,” Ian informs him.</p><p>“Fucking hell. I can’t get away from you.” It comes out more negatively than he means it to and he isn’t sure why he is feeling so much angst in the situation when he and Ian had had such a good morning.</p><p>“What, you too?” Ian smiles and raises both eyebrows in surprise.</p><p>“Like you didn’t know.” Mickey grimaces.</p><p>“I didn’t. I swear. <em> That </em>is actually a coincidence.”</p><p>“Alright.” Mickey lets out a low sigh he doesn’t expect. “He pull out the sock puppets yet?” he asks, attempting to lighten the mood because he doesn’t think he can quite bear sitting there with that much tension.</p><p>Ian huffs a soft laugh. “Oh, yeah.” Ian rolls his eyes. “So, you got to see his puppet show too?”</p><p>“First fucking day. Like he's Mr. Fucking Rogers.” </p><p>Ian laughs loudly, throwing his head back. His laughter takes up the whole space and Mickey sees something he hadn't seen before, or at least not in many many years. Ian looks beautiful in that moment. His long throat and clusters of freckles right there in Mickey’s face. For a second he sees a happy, carefree boy. Mirth and joy. A shining face. And he thinks he's fucking gorgeous. Mickey shakes his head and snaps out of it, but not before he is sure that Ian sees that something intense is going on in Mickey's mind and they both start to blush.</p><p>“What time is your appointment? He can’t see us both at once, can he?” Ian asks.</p><p>“Naw. My appointment is at one-thirty,” Mickey tells him.</p><p>“Ok. I’m seeing him at two.”</p><p>The silence that follows is awkward and Mickey looks around the room, taking in all of the gloom that is the parole office, trying to avoid eye contact and wondering how to make things feel less weird when he doesn’t think they really should be.</p><p>Eventually, Ian breaks the ice and starts asking questions about Mickey’s experience with the certification program and how difficult it was and what did he already know before he got in. The conversation turns to the shop and then—much to Mickey’s dismay—to Willie. </p><p>“So I noticed that our checks are signed ‘Richard Williams,’” Ian says.</p><p>“Yeah?” Mickey furrows his brow.</p><p>“So, Willie's first name is actually Richard?"</p><p>"Yeah." Mickey rolls his head at Ian. "So what? What's the big fuckin’ deal?"</p><p>"And Willie comes from his last name, which is Williams?"</p><p>"Yes, what? Jesus, Ian." Mickey is irritated, feeling like Ian is holding back something, like an inside joke, or just being really dense. "Whathafuck?" Eyebrows are up and Mickey swipes his thumb across his bottom lip. “What?"</p><p>"So, his name is Dick Willie." Ian is doubled over laughing loudly and it is almost embarrassing in the small space. People's heads turn to scowl at the two men, laughter and joy not a common exclamation in the parole officer. So, Mickey then turns bright red.</p><p>“Calm the fuck down,” Mickey whispers aggressively through clenched teeth.</p><p>Ian sits back still giggling, but Mickey finally let's what Ian had said sink in. It's juvenile and silly, but he lowers his head as he starts to smile into a laugh. He's laughing more because of how corny the joke is and how funny Ian thinks it is rather than how funny Mickey actually thinks it is. He covers his lips with his index finger in an attempt to cover it up. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he sees Ian looking at him, staring at his lips. It sobers Mickey up and he moves his head back and looks at the red haired man. "What the fuck are you looking at?" The words are aggressive, but his tone is low and breathy.</p><p>Ian doesn't break his gaze, continuing to stare at Mickey, first at his lips and then directly into his eyes. Green eyes on blue eyes. And it makes Mickey's cock tingle and he starts to squirm because this is not the right place to be making eyes at each other and getting feelings like this.</p><p>"You look really hot when you smile." Ian's face is stone cold sober, his jaw set and his eyes searing into Mickey, deep behind his blue eyes and penetrating his brain. Mickey snaps up, sitting straighter and taller. His head swivels around to see if anyone could have heard. But everyone looks too absorbed in their own misery to give two shits about what these two assholes are saying to each other.</p><p>"You better fuck off with that shit right now," Mickey says, nostrils flaring and he balls up his fists; he wasn’t prepared for this. Out of nowhere he feels a surge of anger and embarrassment and he feels naked in front of all these strangers that are hardened criminals—like he's in the Southside again or out in public with his father and some of his cronies. These people… these are the people who he's always been deathly afraid of knowing he's gay. He feels his father about to crash in on him, can hear a whisper of his voice, and he has to stop it. </p><p>With a clenched jaw he looks at Ian and spits out, "Listen. We are not doing this. Especially not here. And I’m not going to let you try and manipulate me with your fucking cock, so that I’m exposed in public. I don’t need all these fucking people knowing I’m a fa—Ugh. You can fuck right off, you—what?" </p><p>He shoots daggers from his eyes as Ian's face cracks into a wide sideways smile, his head tilted and a stray strand of red hair escapes onto his forehead. He looks like a boy then. The boy he once knew, who he had thought was so beautiful, but hated at one point. Hated ‘cos he wasn't free like Ian was. Wasn't free to at the very least admit to the people in his life that he was gay. Hated him because he wasn't free to love who he wanted like Ian was. Hated him ‘cos maybe it had been Ian he wanted to love. Fuck. Mickey thought he was past this point, but he obviously isn’t. He pushes it all back down, deep in his belly where so many memories and particles of pain live. </p><p>Ian rolls his eyes and he lets out a little throaty laugh, obviously over Mickey’s aggressive, yet quiet outburst. "So, you think about my cock?"</p><p>Mickey stands up and attempts to posture larger than he is. His anger is seething out of him now even though he really doesn’t want it to be and it feels irrational, but he is smoldering. Ian seeming to be unfazed by the whole thing doesn’t help either. "You fuckin' listen right now—"</p><p>"Mickey!" And there's Larry, arms outstretched and barreling towards Mickey with a goofy smile and inappropriate enthusiasm. He embraces Mickey, who goes limp next to the rotund man's body, arms plastered to his side. Mickey sees Ian's face and his smirk and he wants to punch him. Punch him right in the mouth. Right in the mouth. In his pretty pink mouth. <em> Fuck </em>.</p><p>***</p><p>Larry did bust out the feelings cards, but Mickey was preoccupied, still thinking about how he had reacted to Ian’s expressions of affection and lust, and him making fun of the fact that somehow he is pretty sure that Ian knows and understands that, yes, Mickey has indeed been thinking about Ian’s cock. Did he actually know? Was he guessing? Had he given himself away? What was really going on in that ginger head? Fucking hell.</p><p>“You seem like you aren’t really into this today, Mickey.” Like he’s ever into this stupid fucking game.</p><p>“You doing alright?” Larry puts down the cards and laces his fingers in front of him.</p><p>Oh, shit, not Larry now.</p><p>"Yeah. Yeah I'm fine, Larry." Mickey usually doesn't say much in session with Larry, and just lets the other man talk. He has a therapist and doesn't really feel like cutting himself open for another person, but he must have seemed preoccupied because Larry noticed that something was different today.</p><p>"Well, I don't know about that." Larry leans back and gives him a skeptical look. "You know we're in this together, bud?"</p><p>"Yeah, Larry, you've told me that," Mickey says, and he hears his own voice. It sounds flat and far away.</p><p>"I just want you to know. I'm here to make sure you are successful. I'm here for you. It's not easy doing what you're doing, Mickey. And you're doing it well."</p><p>Mickey sits up just then and furrows his brow. "What am I doing?" Mickey asks sincerely.</p><p>"What do you mean?" Larry looks puzzled.</p><p>"I mean what am I doin' that you think I'm doin' good?"</p><p>"Seriously?" Larry asks, surprise in his voice.</p><p>"Yeah." Mickey just looks at him.</p><p>"Mickey, do you know the success rate for people released from prison in the state of Illinois?"</p><p>Mickey just shakes his head.</p><p>"Forty-three percent will reoffend in the first three years after release. And those that have been juvenile offenders and have spent time in jail… it's even higher."</p><p>This feels like the most serious Larry has been with him, but he isn't sure where he's going with it.</p><p>"My point is that it is not easy for someone that's been through what you've been through and been in the system for as long as you have to get out of prison and turn their lives around. To be part of society. To live a productive life. But you've made it a year, and Mickey you are doing a great job." </p><p>Larry is emphatic and has some other emotion in his voice, a slight quiver that confuses and somehow embarrasses Mickey.</p><p>"I—" Mickey doesn't know what to say because he knows on the surface that it sounds like Larry is right. He knows he's been productive, worked hard, paid his bills, and stayed out of trouble, but it doesn't connect in his brain as being something he's actually accomplished. It almost doesn't seem real. How could he be doing things the right way? How could <em> he </em> be successful? He doesn't feel special. Doesn't feel like on the positive percentage side of the pie chart, but Larry is telling him he is. And although Larry drives him crazy and he often thinks the guy is not right in the head, he knows he's been a PO for many years and probably has seen many a con go back to prison, so he is the expert here. So he might be ridiculous, but he might also be right.</p><p>"I hadn't thought about it," Mickey tells him. "I hadn't thought about it <em> that </em> way."</p><p>"Well." Larry sits back, seeming surprised that Mickey hadn't realized his success. "You should think about it. 'Cos I think you're doing great. I'm proud of you." He leans in again and gives Mickey the biggest, goofiest Larry smile that can be conjured up at that moment.</p><p>"Thank you." Mickey sounds small and he looks down at his hands. </p><p>"Hey, you're the one that's doing all the work. You should be proud of yourself. You deserve it."</p><p>Mickey nods and looks at the clock.</p><p>"Yup." Larry gets the hint. "It's time to go, bud." He stands up and puts out his hand. Mickey accepts it and shakes it. "You're doing great."</p><p>"Thanks again, Larry." Mickey says it and means it.</p><p>They walk out together, Larry no doubt about to take Ian back with him. When they get to the waiting area, Ian stands up immediately. Before Larry can grab hold of Ian, Ian grabs hold of Mickey.</p><p>"Wait for me," Ian tells him, grasping his upper arm and whispering in a gravely voice in his ear.</p><p>Mickey wants to shake him off, but he also loves the feeling of the pressure Ian is applying to his arm. And he loves his hot breath in his ear. And he loves that he can smell the Altoids on his breath attempting to cover up the faint smell of tobacco. And he hates that he loves all those things.</p><p>Mickey doesn't say anything, he just looks in Ian's eyes, frozen and more than a little confused as his feelings start to battle it out again.</p><p>"Ian!" Larry is too excited.</p><p>Ian releases Mickey's arm and turns to look at Larry. His face changes immediately—he flips some switch and transforms his face, his voice, his demeanor, and Mickey wonders if he does that all the time and how often he does it. And where did he learn to do it? It's like a magic trick.</p><p>"Larry!" Ian exclaims back, looking bright and enthusiastic, and Mickey is genuinely confused by it. "It's good to see you."</p><p>"Good to see you too. Come on back." Larry gestures towards the swinging half door. "I'll see you next month, Mickey. Call if you need me."</p><p>"How have you been, Larry?" Mickey hears Ian say as they walk away, then Ian turns and looks at Mickey with a completely different expression. And what a look. It isn't quite pleading. It feels more like commanding. Like he's telling Mickey that Mickey will wait for him. </p><p>And Mickey does.</p><p>***</p><p>"What am I doing out here, Gallagher?" Mickey grouses as Ian approaches him. It's gotten chilly again, spring only teasing just days before that it was here and Mickey is bundled up and cranky.</p><p>"So I've been downgraded to Gallagher again, huh?" Ian raises his eyebrows and shoves his hands in his pockets.</p><p>Mickey rolls his eyes. "Don't be so fucking dramatic."</p><p>"<em> I'm </em> being dramatic?" Ian's voice is kinda shrill and carrying irritation on every note.</p><p>Mickey gives an aggravated sigh, knowing Ian is talking about what happened in the PO's office.</p><p>"I'm fucking starving, if you're gonna be on my ass let's at least do it on the way to get a dog." Mickey says it then shakes his head, knowing his choice of words isn't the best in this situation.</p><p>Ian's expression is exasperation mixed with a struggle to repress a wisecrack.</p><p>"Fuck you. Let's go." Mickey gestures and they start to walk, Ian shortening his stride to stay in sync with Mickey.</p><p>Ian lets out a long stream of air and Mickey feels anxiety coming off the other man. They walk for several blocks in silence, the sounds of the street and the wind whipping around buildings and cars filling the space around them, but not between them.</p><p>"What was all that back there?" Ian finally breaks the seal.</p><p>"You tell me." Mickey looks at him out of the corner of his eye.</p><p>"Fuck." Ian puffs out. "Fine, I might have been a little too flirty."</p><p>"Yeah, <em> friend </em>, in the parole office of all places." </p><p>"You're right. We're trying to be friends."</p><p>"Your fucking idea."</p><p>"I know, okay?" Ian is defensive and a little winey. "But you didn't have to react like that. Don't you think that was a little aggressive? I mean what the fuck, Mickey?" Ian stops and spins Mickey around.</p><p>Mickey knocks Ian's hand away, but then looks down at his feet, and knows Ian is right.</p><p>"I was out of line." Ian's tone has softened. "But you acted like I was outing you in front of everyone. And you also act like it fuckin' matters if those fuckin' strangers know that you're gay."</p><p>"It—" Mickey releases hot air out of his nose, clenching his jaw, and he tries to make eye contact with Ian. "It does. Okay? I don't want it to, but it still does." Mickey is embarrassed and guilty, but mostly he's just sad. Sad that his father is still controlling him. Sad that he can't be who he is. Sad because it's all so wrapped up in Ian and that Ian is also affected by it. Just fucking sad.</p><p>Ian's face softens and he looks down at Mickey with sorrow in his eyes. They stand there looking at each other for long enough to piss off at least fifteen to twenty pedestrians who can't be bothered to walk around two dumbasses in the middle of the sidewalk in the middle of the afternoon. So, after getting cursed at several times, they move closer to the building, Mickey with his back to the wall and Ian basically blocking out the sun.</p><p>"You got scared," Ian says. There is no question there, and Mickey knows he's right, he just wishes Ian didn't know that.</p><p>"I'm sorry I was… aggressive or whatever," Mickey chokes out.</p><p>"And I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable. It was just…" Ian looks down at his feet then back up to Mickey. "Sometimes all I see is how… how beautiful you are, Mickey. And I just get stuck there." Ian's honesty twists Mickey's guts, and he doesn't know how to respond.</p><p>"This isn't gonna work like this Ian." Mickey looks up at the red hair and sad eyes of the man in front of him, and he feels it. He feels all of it. All that Ian feels. All that is Ian. And it's so fucking much.</p><p>"I know."</p><p>"You think we can do this? You think we can be friends? 'Cos I don't know if we know how. I don't know if we can."</p><p>"We did this morning. We did good this morning." Ian sounds like a little kid pleading to get his favorite toy back. </p><p>"Yeah. We did." Mickey nods and has the urge to pat Ian's head, but doesn't.</p><p>"Can we walk again?" Ian's teeth are starting to chatter and just then Mickey's tummy growls.</p><p>"Yeah, let's go, the place isn't far." Mickey gestures forward.</p><p>"You're just gonna have to learn to control yourself better." Mickey tells him soberly as they walk.</p><p>Ian throws his head back and plants his hand on his chest and laughs so loudly that it earns them a scowl from a meter maid. They are not racking up any fans on this walk.</p><p>"What's so fucking funny?" Mickey says through gritted teeth.</p><p>"Okay, Mickey. I'll control myself as soon as you do."</p><p>"What?" It's Mickey's turn to be inappropriately loud on their little stroll.</p><p>"Yeah. You think I didn't notice you looking at me this morning? You checked out every body part you could when you thought I wasn't looking. You practically peeled my jumpsuit off with your eyes." Ian laughs again just not as loud.</p><p>"Fuck," Mickey grumbles. He knows he can't deny it, he's caught and Ian would see through any protest Mickey put out.</p><p>They get to the hole in the wall that was their destination and the conversation stops, taking a temporary reprieve to get their Chicago dogs and greasy hot fries that they somehow silently agree to share. They slide into a booth and start to eat, Mickey too hungry to care at the moment that there is a conversation hanging in the air above them.</p><p>The place is grimy and nothing has been updated in decades. The red vinyl booths are tattered, major upholstery flaws and tears patched with colored duct tape that is three or four shades too bright to match. The tables are salt and pepper formica with the faux chrome around the edges that on their table is missing a piece at the end, making it look very dangerous. But fuck, the food was good.</p><p>Mickey, who will never be accused of not eating again, finally comes up for air and sits back examining Ian's face which is full of french fries and expectation.</p><p>"Yeah. Okay," Mickey says. "I was checking you out. Maybe we didn’t do as good this morning as we thought. It was not fuckin' okay."</p><p>"Maybe it is okay," Ian interjects.</p><p>"What? What are you talkin' ‘bout?" Mickey shakes his head.</p><p>"Maybe we're gonna check each other out. Maybe we're gonna have feelings. I mean, I know <em> I </em> am. And maybe that's okay. But maybe it's about what we do with them."</p><p>"What the fuck does that even mean?"</p><p>"Like, I looked at your lips today." Ian's voice gets low and he drops his eyes to Mickey's lips, "And I know what I wanted to do with those lips…"</p><p>"Ian…"</p><p>"And that's gonna happen. I can't help how I feel, but I don't have to act on it."</p><p>"But—"</p><p>"No but." Ian shakes his head. "It's how we act or react that matters. I shouldn't have said anything to you. I should have stopped when I realized I was doing it. It made you uncomfortable. It was fucked up."</p><p>"No, it's okay." Suddenly Mickey feels like he's about to lose something even though it's ridiculous and he has no rational thought behind it.</p><p>"Not really." Ian shakes his head. "I don't wanna make you feel like that, and that's not what friends do. I really want to try to be friends." Ian nods his head and looks like a little kid, idealistic and almost innocent. "But we're gonna have feelings, so we just have to accept that and be mindful of how we are making the other person feel because of it."</p><p>"Jesus Christ, you sound like a fuckin' shri—therapist."</p><p>"Well, <em>you</em> <em>know</em>, I've been in and out of hospitals and therapy for the last six years, so I picked up a few things." Ian looks at Mickey. It isn't quite accusatory, but it's sharp and Mickey feels like Ian just took a slice out of him. </p><p>Mickey readjusts himself in the seat and feels the tension rising slightly. "Yeah, okay. You're right." Mickey finally says. "There's gonna be feelings. We just have to be cool. If I say to knock it off, you knock it off. And it goes both ways. You should have said something if it made you uncomfortable this morning."</p><p>"It didn't." Ian's face is stone cold sober and it gives Mickey shivers. "But you're right, I should have said something. If we're gonna be friends and figure shit out and get to know each other again then I should have said something. We have to check each other."</p><p>"Fuck. This sounds like a lot of work," Mickey grouses.</p><p>"Yeah." Ian's voice is soft and he looks at his hands. "But I think it's worth it. It's worth it to me, Mickey." Then he looks up with glassy eyes that almost look wet.</p><p>Mickey is melting, which is the opposite of what he should be doing, but Ian's words and his face and his voice just send him someplace inside that reminds him of what he found so hard to stay away from so many years ago. <em> This is gonna be really fucking hard. </em></p><p>"Yeah." Mickey nods, but that's all he says, and that 'yeah' carries the weight of all his confused feelings and desires and angst. Yeah, it's gonna be hard. Yeah, they should try. Yeah, it's worth it. <em> Yeah, your eyes make me wanna do things to you that friends don't do.  </em></p><p>Yeah.</p><p>This is gonna be really really fucking hard.</p><p>"So, Larry pull out the feelings card game thing?" Ian quirks his mouth, obviously attempting to lighten their mood and get them in the friend zone.</p><p>Mickey snorts. "Fuck… That fuckin' guy." Mickey smiles and shakes his head. "You headin' back to the shop?"</p><p>"No, it would be almost five by the time I get there and I'm not staying late today," Ian tells him.</p><p>"No?" Mickey is disappointed and is worried his eyebrows give it away.</p><p>"I promised I'd help Lip with something."</p><p>"Lip," Mickey says with disgust weaved in his voice. He doesn't mean to say it out loud, but he can't help himself.</p><p>"Still?" Ian is looking at him incredulously. </p><p>"Sorry." Mickey throws his arms up in surrender. "But for the record. I never liked your brother."</p><p>"That's supposed to make it better?" Ian laughs despite himself.</p><p>"Yeah," Mickey smiles and tries not to laugh. "Yeah, it is."</p><p>And they sit and smile, looking at each other, both men beaming, eyes glittering and they know—they both just fucking know, but won't say out loud—that this is either going to be really good or a fabulous fucking disaster.</p><p>***</p><p>Mickey settles down into his usual chair in Maria’s office and is suddenly full of dread. So much has happened since the last time he saw her that he is feeling overwhelmed. He wishes he had come up with a game plan of what he is going to tell her and what he isn’t and there is so much teeming around in his brain that he is in danger of not telling her anything at all. He wants there to be an easy way into the conversation about Ian, but he just doesn’t see any. And he wants to tell her about Iggy and telling Audre he’s gay and about Ana and the family… And he kinda has to tell her about the anxiety attack and his drawings, but fuck that is so much. He isn’t sure he can get it all out or if he is even supposed to. But what he does know is that he has spent an inordinate amount of time constantly questioning his feelings and trying to understand them and he’s pretty sure that is the shit that you talk to your therapist about.</p><p>Maria settles down across from him with a subtle smile and kind eyes as usual. It lightens his mood a little and gives him a moment to pause and relax. <em> It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t judge me. She gets paid to listen to my shit. I can do this. </em>He half-heartedly believes his pep talk, but lets out a slow stream of air and gives her a strained smile back.</p><p>“How are you doing today, Mickey?” Maria’s tone is even and easy.</p><p>“I’m… eh, yeah, I’m okay.” Mickey feels like that should have been an easier question than it was.</p><p>“You aren’t sure?” Maria asks him.</p><p>“I guess not.” He lets out a wry laugh. “I feel like I should know, but I don’t.”</p><p>“Well, tell me what you did today.” </p><p>“I, uh, started work early to work on the Chevelle, and, uh…” Then he stops because he realizes that the beginning of his day all the way through to right before he walked into her office involved Ian Gallagher, and the last he had talked to her about him, he was still focused on what he thought was happening with Ian and Willie and he had given her the slightest piece of information possible about their past, but nothing more.</p><p>“What is it, Mickey?” It seems Maria senses his inner struggle.</p><p>“It’s, uh, it’s Ian. You know? The redhead.”</p><p>Maria nods her head, expression remaining neutral.</p><p>“Well, he… hmf… I… shit, I don’t even know where to start, Maria. Things have gotten so fucking complicated, and I feel like I'm always trying to figure out how I fucking feel. I never know or understand. It's ‘maybe it's this’ or ‘maybe it's that.’ But I feel like I never actually know. And then I'm like, why am I trying to even figure this out? What good is it anyway? It's fucking exhausting." Mickey feels like he’s going to cry in frustration. She had just asked him how his day had been, and that was enough to set him off on what was feeling like a downward spiral. Or maybe it was sideways, but it was a spiral of some sort.</p><p>Maria is calm and looks at him thoughtfully. "Sounds like maybe there was a lot going on this week."</p><p>Mickey laughs with no humor and sits back, pushing his bottom lip into his teeth. "Yeah. Yeah there's been a lot."</p><p>"And a lot of it had to do with Ian?" she asks.</p><p>"Fuuuuckkk," he growls. "Yes, and I don't even know where to start." He throws his head back almost like a child.</p><p>“Do you still believe that he and Willie are sexually involved.”</p><p>“Ugh.” Mickey closes his eyes. This is so much. It’s all too much.</p><p>“Mickey, it’s okay. Just take it slow.”</p><p>“Me and Ian…” He looks up at her face to see if she is going to respond to him talking about him <em> and </em> Ian, but she doesn’t. “Me and Ian have more of a history than I, uh, told you.”</p><p>Maria remains unmoved, expression unchanged, hands in lap and well poised.</p><p>"Ian was more than my sister's friend. We have a history. Together. Me and him." Mickey looks up at her and there is still zero shock on her face. "But… I don't think I can talk about all of that right now."</p><p>"But it's safe to say that Ian's arrival corresponding with your increased anxiety attacks, the heightened severity, and recent dissociative episodes is not a coincidence?"</p><p>"No, okay. It's not." He knows he sounds defensive. Thinks he sounds like a dick, but he can't seem to stop himself.</p><p>"We have a history. Yes, shitty things did happen with my sister, but not because of him." Mickey explains to Maria about what went down with Mandy, but he leaves out the details about his father. Then he tells her about the day Ian tore into his room seven years before, including how he had beaten Ian to a pulp.</p><p>"Why did you do that, Mickey?" Maria asks.</p><p>"Because…" Mickey is searching for the words, the reason, the real reason, but it just seems to be too hard. He feels a hot prickle of tears sting his eyes and he feels like he’s staring into nowhere, but also into himself. He shakes his head and one treacherous tear falls to his cheek. “I can’t. I honestly didn’t even remember it until he and I got into it the other night. And then it just all came crashing in on me. It fuckin’ sucked.”</p><p>“Okay, you don’t have to talk about it right now, Mickey.” Maria smiles gently and puts the tissue box on the table.</p><p>“But him and Willie aren’t bangin’. I can tell you that. Not that Willie didn’t try.”</p><p>“And you’re angry about that.” It’s not a question.</p><p>“Yeah, I am,” Mickey sighs. “Ian told me that he feels like it’s his fault, but it’s bullshit because Willie is still married, so it doesn’t matter.”</p><p>“Why would Ian think it’s his fault?”</p><p>“Because…” Mickey looks all around her head at everything but her until he finally lands back on her face. “He flirted with Willie to make sure he could get the job because… because he knew I worked there.”</p><p>“So Ian deliberately got a job where you work because he wanted to be close to you?”</p><p>“Yeah, I guess. I mean he has to have a job for parole, right, and that’s the best paying job for a parolee there is. There aren’t employers lining up to hire freshly released prisoners. But, yeah, he told me he got the job so he could ‘fix things.’”</p><p>“What do you think he means by that?”</p><p>“I don’t know.” Mickey shakes his head. “He wants to fix things that happened when we were kids. He wants to be friends. I think he wants other things too.”</p><p>“And what do you want?”</p><p>Mickey’s eyes grow wide because he isn’t sure he has asked himself that question with any seriousness if at all. And he also isn’t sure he knows. <em> What do I want? What </em> <b> <em>do </em> </b> <em> I want? Shit. </em>“I don’t know.” He is honest and it hurts. </p><p>Maria doesn’t say anything, leaving the space open for him to fill with his words. </p><p>"Ian being there, at the shop, it just set me off. You were right before. And it does have to do with my father, but it has to do with so many other things too. Having him close to me sets off all of these old feelings and so many of them are bad. But some of them are good. And it’s so fucking confusing.” Mickey hears his voice come out strangled and he feels like it sounded like it came from someone else.</p><p>“We were working late the other night and it was going okay, but then he just looked at me…” Mickey feels far away from his own voice and he starts thinking about Ian and his face and that night in the shop. “He looks at me like no one should look at me, and I just feel like I’m coming apart in a million fuckin' pieces."</p><p>“What do you mean that he shouldn’t look at you like that? Like what?” </p><p>Mickey takes a deep breath and a long exhale. “Like I’m special. Like I’m beautiful. Like I’m important. He looks at me like he lo—” Mickey lowers his head. “He looks at me like he loves me. And I just can’t fucking stand it.” He sits back, feeling like he can’t breathe for a second and he hears his own words bounce around and echo in the small room. Then he starts to laugh.</p><p>“I been around you and Audre enough to know what that sounds like.” He covers his mouth with his forefinger and keeps smiling with no humor. “Poor little Mickey thinks he doesn’t deserve to be loved.”</p><p>“Do you think that’s what it sounds like?”</p><p>“Yeah, it sounds pathetic,” he chokes out.</p><p>“Do you think it’s true, Mickey? Do you think you don’t deserve to be loved?”</p><p>Mickey sits with that. He doesn’t know what he thinks. He isn’t sure what is or isn’t true. But the idea of someone loving him has always been hard, and lately he seems surrounded by people that might love him—seems like they certainly want to. Why is this so hard? He thinks about Ian loving him and what that could mean and he feels like he’s being punched in the temple, searing hot pain enters his skull, and it takes his breath away.</p><p>“It hurts.” The words come out small and barely intelligible.</p><p>“What does?” Maria opens up her posture and tilts her head to try and see his eyes that are down cast and possibly shedding tears.</p><p>“When I think about anyone loving me.” Mickey picks at the hem of his shirt and he just can’t make eye contact with Maria. “It hurts to think about people loving me because I think that it’s just ‘cos they don’t know me and when they do they'll see it’s not worth it. And it hurts because it’s hard to imagine anyone ever has loved me. But when I think about Ian loving me it feels like someone is ripping out my guts.”</p><p>“Those sound like really painful emotions.”</p><p>“Yeah. You know, the other night we got into a stupid fucking fight and we both said shitty things, but we ended up fighting, rolling around and the floor. And then…” Mickey looks at the ceiling trying to find the right words. “Then we were holding each other and it was… I don’t know what the right word is.” Mickey looks up at her for help.</p><p>“Intimate?” Maria asks.</p><p>“Yeah. Yeah, you could say that.” He nods his head, sniffling and grabbing a tissue to run it across his nose. “It was intimate and he started to kiss my neck, and I wanted him to, but then it just went to shit. It started to feel like I was in pain and like I was choking. It was all too much.”</p><p>“Were you having a flashback?”</p><p>Mickey nods his head, unable to meet her gaze.</p><p>“Why do you look ashamed of that?” Maria looks very concerned and he is somewhat surprised by her question.</p><p>“Maybe I am. I wanted him to touch me, but I couldn't handle it. And I can’t handle him looking at me like the sun shines out of my ass. I can’t handle any of it. It’s not fucking fair. And I’m also not even sure of everything that happened that made it this way. I know some of it. The basics of it, but I can’t talk about it. And I certainly can’t think about it. I can't—” Mickey starts to choke and can feel that his cheeks are wet, but he really doesn’t care.</p><p>“It's ok. You don't have to, Mickey.” Maria pushes the tissues closer to him, and smiles again, but this time wider. “You don’t have to think about it or talk about all of it. What your job right now is to figure out how to handle your feelings and your actions and reactions.” </p><p>“That's what Ian said.” Mickey gives a half frown and starts to wipe his face.</p><p>“He sounds intelligent.” She smiles. </p><p>Mickey tries to smile at her, but he doesn't think it's coming across. </p><p>“I don't remember everything, anyway. I can't. It hurts." He tells her.</p><p>“We don't want you to get flooded, Mickey. It can be dangerous. Trying to pry everything open after it’s been bottled up for so long could cause an explosion that you might not be able to handle. But I want you to keep paying attention to your body and what it's telling you. That's gonna be really important right now. Our body remembers things that our minds can’t always recall. Right now your body doesn’t feel safe with Ian touching you or probably Ian giving you any affection.”</p><p>Mickey nods. He knows she’s right. It reminds him of being in the park and not being able to draw because his body wasn’t getting the message it didn’t have to constantly be worried that someone was going to kill him just for sitting out in the open. He knows she is right. His body felt Ian’s body and felt Ian’s affection and admiration and it immediately translated it all into danger. And that fucking sucked.</p><p>“I have homework for you,” Maria says.</p><p>“You're fuckin’ kidding.” The mention of homework jars him right out of his thoughts and he sounds like a whiny little kid. “I thought we weren't gonna do that no more.”</p><p>“I never promised that. Striving for wellness sometimes requires more work outside of the therapist’s office. You know that.” She isn’t snarky, but it still sounds that way. Maria goes into her cabinet and pulls out a bright blue folder, then hands it to Mickey. Inside there are charts and he pulls one out.</p><p>“When you have a strong emotion, no matter what it is—happy, angry, sad, excited—you write down what was happening right before, how you reacted, and all the different things your body does during and after.” Maria instructs him. </p><p>“I'm not a third grader,” Mickey protests.</p><p>Maria sits back and actually frowns, which throws Mickey off for a second. “No but your emotional maturity is stunted. You are biologically twenty-five, the part of your brain that processes feelings is not. It is stunted from years of abuse and neglect, from fighting for survival and probably a fair amount of drug use. At some point it stopped growing and stopped developing. This last year you have made a lot of progress. Your mind has grown up a lot, but you still have a ways to go. You said it yourself that you are always trying to figure out how you are feeling.” She looks at him with raised eyebrows. </p><p>Using his words against him. <em> Dammit </em>. </p><p>“Yeah,” is all he can say. </p><p>“Well, lets see what your body tells us.” Mickey thinks she looks triumphant and that feels out of character for her, but he also thinks it’s kind of funny.</p><p>“So, you mentioned a few flashbacks this week and sounds like some pretty serious emotional challenges...Anymore serious panic attacks?” Maria sits down and folds her hands in her lap.</p><p>Mickey lets out a stuttered breath, and then proceeds to tell her about the night he had the big panic attack where Ian came back and found him. He realizes as he is telling her about it that he is worried she is going to judge Ian for not taking him to the hospital, and he thinks it’s ridiculous that he feels like he needs to be protective of Ian with his therapist. <em> That must be some kind of red flag or something. </em></p><p>Maria is quiet for several beats and he can see that she is thinking. She crosses and uncrosses her ankles and it makes him nervous. She finally speaks after what feels like an uncomfortably long time. </p><p>"Do you remember what I asked you to do last time you were here? What you promised to do?” And Mickey honestly does not know what she's talking about.</p><p>“So either your agreement was sincere and you forgot, or you were giving me lip service and never intended to go to the hospital the next time you had a panic attack where you lost consciousness. Which is it?”</p><p>Maria’s face is stone and Mickey is caught off guard, stunned into silence, his body going stiff and eyes widening. <em> Holy shit </em>. She is for real calling him on it. And she seems kinda pissed. It must be another red flag that he was worried about her judging Ian and completely didn’t think about her being upset with him.</p><p>After thirty seconds that feels like an hour, Maria looks him dead in the eye, her eyebrows raised. "Which is it? Did you believe you would go to the hospital or were you placating me? Because it seems that you dismissed it to the point that you didn't even remember what you had agreed to a week ago."</p><p>“I—" Mickey's first instinct is always to never admit guilt, but she isn't a PO, a cop or a correctional officer, and he isn't clear what consequences he seems to be afraid he will face by admitting that he had zero intention of going to the hospital. He had told her what she wanted to hear and it had left his mind as soon as he walked from the door. Admitting that seemed really hard, but he didn't have a good lie that he thought he could sell.</p><p>His therapist sat there, fully willing to wait out the silence.</p><p>"It was the first thing you said," Mickey says shyly, refusing to make eye contact.</p><p>"I'm not a fan of lecturing clients, Mickey," she says, her voice calm and level. "But I have to tell you that was dangerous. And frankly, I'm surprised that Ian didn't call for an ambulance, especially because he had been an EMT."</p><p>Mickey feels his hackles raise when she brings up Ian just like he thought he might, but he tells himself he needs to calm the fuck down because Maria hasn’t done anything wrong. She’s right and he knows it. </p><p>"I'm sorry." Mickey tells her, and he means it. “But it isn’t Ian’s fault. I think I really scared him and he also just...he just really wanted to take care of me. I don’t know.”</p><p>“Mickey.” Maria seems like she is back to her calm center and he is relieved. “I understand, but don’t placate me. And you also don’t have to defend Ian to me. I think I’m getting a better picture of him as well. But I am concerned for your health, and I would like for you to consider going to the hospital if it happens again.”</p><p>“Okay.” Mickey nods and feels relieved that she is back to normal, but he takes note not to blow smoke up her ass again even though he had not intended to do that. </p><p>There is still time left in their session and she asks him if there are any positives that have happened over the week. He laughs and tells her that they could have two more sessions with what happened this last week, and that, yes, there were positives. So, in one breath he manages to tell her about Iggy and his family not wanting to murder him, about the Charger and the road trip with Audre and coming out to her, about having dinner with Ana and Willie’s family even though he was terrified, and about going to a coffee shop and drawing even though he felt like a douche saying it out loud.</p><p>Maria sits forward in her chair, looking at him with somewhat wide eyes. “Mickey, you went through so much this week. I’m really proud of you. Do you understand how strong you are?”</p><p>Mickey is taken aback. He never imagined her saying she was proud. And he certainly doesn’t feel like anything he went through necessarily makes him strong, but maybe she is right. “I guess not.” He shrugs.</p><p>“You are. You did tremendous things and dealt with serious crises. You really should be proud of yourself too.”</p><p>“Larry told me that too.”</p><p>“He’s right.” Maria nodded. “And—” Maria sits back, cautiously looking at him.</p><p>“What?” He asks somewhat slack-jawed.</p><p>“Did you realize while you were telling me all that, how many people you have in your life that sincerely care about you, Mickey?”</p><p>He shrugs his shoulders, not sure what to think in this moment.</p><p>“I know that you are used to this idea that you don’t have anyone and that you don’t deserve to be loved, but that is your old narrative. That’s the story you told yourself for years. Your other piece of homework is to challenge that. Who wrote that story, Mickey? Why was that your narrative? Why do you need to hold on to it? And I want you to imagine that Mickey’s story, the one you have been carrying around for so many years, is actually wrong. And if it’s wrong, then what does that mean for you in relation to all these loving people in your life now?”</p><p>Mickey is stunned. What a way to end the fucking session. That might all be too much for him, but he nods his head anyway. “You might have to write that down,” he says.</p><p>Maria gives him a wry smile. “Just think about it, Mickey. We’ll talk about it next week.”</p><p>“Okay. I will. I mean it this time.”</p><p>She smiles at him and they stand up to walk out. As he leaves the office building he is left with feelings that are somewhat dueling. Some part of him feels unburdened, but he also feels like he has so much more to think about and consider than he did when he walked in there. He hadn’t made a game plan for therapy, but he never thought about how much their conversation might be about him deserving love or that he would be left feeling like he really didn’t know what he wanted, but that he should maybe try to figure that out. There are questions on top of questions and he doesn’t like it. At all.</p><p>And now he has homework. What the fuck?</p><p>***</p><p>Mickey gets back from his therapy appointment and is dead on his feet. "Striving for wellness" is just fucking exhausting. He still manages to make some mac and cheese and eats sitting up in bed, watching YouTube videos on his phone of animals being jerks, surprised at how easy it is to laugh right now.</p><p>He's almost done with the artificially delicious pasta with the unnaturally colorful cheese when a text message interrupts a cat shoving another cat down a flight of stairs.</p><p>Mickey can see it's Ian and his heart starts to race immediately. He clicks over and it's a selfie of Ian and his fucking brother, Lip, both smiling with their middle fingers up and Ian's tongue out. His brother is missing his mop of curly hair he sported for so long and he actually looks healthy, looks good. In Lip's arms is a really tiny baby, who has its head on Lip's shoulder and is sleeping. </p><p>"Must be his kid," Mickey says out loud. Then the phone chimes again.</p><p><b>Ian</b>: I told him we were taking it for Fiona. Lol.</p><p>Mickey laughs, and can't stop smiling.</p><p><b>Mickey</b>: Tell him I said hi</p><p><b>Mickey</b>: Who's that with him? Another Gallagher? That's all we fucking need </p><p><b>Ian</b>: LMAO 🤣</p><p><b>Ian</b>: That's his son. My nephew.</p><p><b>Ian</b>: Freddie</p><p><b>Mickey</b>: ???</p><p><b>Ian</b>: yeah idk</p><p><b>Mickey</b>: You coming in early?</p><p><b>Ian</b>: No gonna stay late tomorrow. </p><p><b>Ian</b>: What about you?</p><p><b>Mickey</b>: Naw. Got a thing with my brother.</p><p>Mickey feels like he's saying too much. Isn't sure why he's still texting, but it also feels good. More confusing feelings.</p><p><b>Ian</b>: Iggy?</p><p><b>Mickey</b>: Yeah. </p><p><b>Ian</b>: That's really cool.</p><p>Why's it really cool? He wants to ask, but not really because he thinks it might make this pretty alright text exchange not alright if it is what he thinks it is<b>, </b>and they've hung out enough that Ian knew that he and Iggy had been estranged and recently reunited. He knew it would cause even more confusion in his brain and he really wanted a break from all that. </p><p><b>Mickey</b>: Yeah.</p><p>Mickey decides that's enough.</p><p><b>Mickey</b>: I'm gonna turn in soon. I'll see you in the morning.</p><p><b>Ian</b>: Goodnight, Mickey.</p><p><b>Mickey</b>: Night, Ian</p><p><b>Ian</b>: Sweet dreams 😴</p><p><em> Jesus </em> . <em> Why does he have to get cute? Fuck this guy. </em> Mickey doesn't even know if he should respond or not. Does he need to? <em> This is too much. </em> He decides he hates texting.</p><p><b>Mickey</b>: Thanks, you too</p><p>He settles on that and instantly regrets it. <em>That sounded so lame.</em> <em>What the fuck. Why is this so stressful?</em></p><p>Mickey thinks that maybe he's making it out to be bigger in his head than it really is and he decides he needs to watch a few more videos of goats ramming into grown men and dogs humping people's heads after they've fallen off trampolines and cats… well cats just being themselves. <em> Maybe I should get a cat. </em></p><p>Curling up with his phone, he plugs it in and puts YouTube on auto, letting it do it's thing, going from one edit to the next, thinking about having a cat, and maybe he should ask Jenny where she got her cat. <em> I wonder what kinda cat it is. What would I name my cat? I'd want it to be tough, but it would sit on my lap and sleep with me… </em></p><p>His thoughts drift and become tangential swirls with the images and sounds from the tiny screen and swooshing thoughts from his crowded brain that then helps sleep to find him and it all twists into his dreams of a petting zoo that sometimes is tended by a five year old Spanglish-speaking girl and sometimes by redheads that morph from fourteen to twenty-three and back again, but always with a goofy smile. Freckles, kitty cats, and goat rides, counting sheep backwards in Spanish, and green eyes that hug him and make him feel like a real boy.</p><p>Sweet dreams.</p><p>***</p><p>Tuesday at the shop is so busy that Mickey barely has time to do more than congratulate Ian on being an uncle and exchange a look with Rita-Mae that serves as an agreement that he would indeed be keeping what he knows of her personal business to himself. </p><p>By the time quitting time rolls around he had diagnosed two cars, finished up a head gasket Enzo had tapped out on, replaced every kind of belt you can think of and dealt with an eighty year old disgruntled customer that he suspected was actually having a fit of racism because she was complaining about Rita-Mae, which no one ever did. </p><p>Mickey had not been handling it well and Ian had swooped in and spun her away from Mickey who was about to tell her to fuck off. Ian did that magic trick Mickey'd seen with Larry, only this was a whole show produced by turning on some fountain of charm out of nowhere. He complimented her perfume that smelled like moth balls and told her that he understood how frustrated she was and he really wanted her to come back to the shop because he just loved her car and thought it was so special (which it wasn't). And all of a sudden he reminded her of her grandson and what a good boy he was, and his mother must be so proud and she'll come back, but only if he works on her car. No one corrected her and told her that he wasn't a mechanic yet. They were just happy to see her and her Buick Skylark leave as Ian walked her to her car and held the door for her. What a gentleman.</p><p>Everyone had been impressed, and hooted and hollered, but afterward he saw that Ian looked worn out, maybe sad, but Mickey himself was too beat to even start to get into all of that with Ian. Whatever it was, it was a personal demon of Ian's that Mickey wasn't gonna take on; he had too many of his own to deal with right now. </p><p>Mickey is dog-tired, but isn't about to stand-up his brother so he gets cleaned up to reluctantly make his way to the Alibi where they would watch the Sox game and have some beers and hopefully not get too serious. He knows he should talk to Iggy about Mandy, but he just doesn’t have it in him tonight. Not trying to create any moments that will breed big emotions that he will then have to put on his "Fucking Feelings Chart"—as he had renamed it. Tonight he just wants to be a regular guy drinking beer with his brother and watching baseball.</p><p>And that's what they do. </p><p>Kev seems pleased to see him and he gets a surprised but pleasant greeting from his wife Veronica, who everyone calls Vee. The game is playing on all the TVs and everyone’s involved. The Sox are actually winning, which helps elevate the mood and the energy all around him and his brother as they sit at the bar.</p><p>"I think I have a girlfriend," Iggy tells Mickey in between innings.</p><p>"Oh, yeah?" Mickey sizes up his brother for a second. "She come with patches?"</p><p>"Shut the fuck up!" Iggy shoves his brother and Mickey laughs into his beer. </p><p>"No, alright. Seriously. Who is she?"</p><p>"Her name's Vicky."</p><p>"How do you know this girl?" Mickey isn't sure why he's feeling protective, but he is.</p><p>"She works at that new coffee shop where the laundromat used to be."</p><p>"That bougie place across from Patsy's?" Mickey's face twists in disgust like he hadn't just been in a semi-bougie coffee shop a few days before.</p><p>"Yeah, so? What's with the face, asshole."</p><p>"You goin' into fancy coffee shops picking up baristas now, Ig?"</p><p>"Bah-what?"</p><p>"Whatever. What's she like?"</p><p>Mickey sits and listens to Iggy talk excitedly about this girl, and Mickey can tell he really likes her. She sounds nice, but maybe a little naive, and he is surprised by how smitten Iggy is.</p><p>"Maybe you can meet her soon," Iggy says.</p><p>"Oh, yeah?" Mickey shoots back. "Like that already?"</p><p>"Well, maybe not yet." Iggy sports his signature smile and looks bashful. "What about you?"</p><p>"Me?" Mickey feels tense and his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. "What about me?" </p><p>"You seeing anyone?"</p><p>"Why?" Mickey looks at his brother suspiciously.</p><p>"'Cos that's how a personal conversation works, stupid. I tell you about who I'm bangin' and you tell me about who you're bangin'. Why you so paranoid?"</p><p>Mickey feels kinda stupid, but still apprehensive. He doesn't really answer Iggy's last question, he just glides right past it.</p><p>"I'm not seeing anyone. Don't have time."</p><p>Iggy gives him a weird look, but then shrugs and moves on.</p><p>The rest of the night is pretty uneventful, which feels really good to Mickey. He and Iggy sit with the regulars, the barflies and casual users of the neighborhood bar, watching the home team, experiencing the highs and lows together. Mickey gets buzzed, but is never too drunk, and he manages to get through a whole night with no one asking about Ian. </p><p>The whole thing is a much needed abatement from all of the emotional drain, chaos and confusion that is his life. It feels normal and safe. It’s like what he thinks meditating should feel like, or how you should feel after. He smiles to himself as he leaves the bar, knowing that he <em> can </em> be okay and that his life can have these moments of calm. These pockets of peace. Yep, it was a good night.</p><p>***</p><p>"Fuck!" Ian is elbow deep inside a mid-2000s Chevy Impala station wagon, "helping" Mickey replace a serpentine belt and getting exceedingly frustrated.</p><p>"Hey, hey. Calm down." Mickey takes over, sliding the belt around the alternator and securing it.</p><p>"I should have been able to do that," Ian huffs, shoving his hands in his pockets and grinding his jaw. </p><p>"Gallagher, that's the first time you've ever tried to do that. It's confusing as fuck the first time." Mickey cocks his head and looks at Ian, thinking how cute he is when he's a little angry like this and then shoving the thought away, knowing it's trouble. "It's not called a serpentine belt for nothing. The fucker is winding and tricky."</p><p>"It's something mechanics do everyday. What if I can't get it?" Ian looks like he might cry and Mickey has a strong urge to grab him by the back of the neck and pull him into a hug. <em> Oh, shit. This is bad. </em></p><p>"Hey, you need to fuck off with that bullshit. You're not gonna be perfect out the gate."</p><p>"You and Rita-Mae make it look so easy." Ian sniffs a little and his voice is childlike, but he isn't whining. "What if I'm not good at this? Then what do I do?" Ian looks up at Mickey, his eyes full of distress and on the verge of tears.</p><p>"Ian." Mickey's voice gets low, and even though he doesn't think he should, he puts his hands on Ian's shoulders and holds them firmly, forcing Ian to look at him. "Listen, you’ve only been getting your hands greasy for not even two weeks. That's hardly any time, and you can't expect to just know everything and be able to do it. You've been doing a good job, Ian, and you're learning fast. Just cut that dramatic shit out. Okay? You can do it. You will."</p><p>Mickey releases Ian's shoulders, feeling the rise in intensity and needing to put it in reverse. He takes a step back and looks around to see who might have been witness to the scene, but everyone else is engrossed in what they are doing. Mickey looks back to Ian, who has a sad little smile on his face that is curled up to the side.</p><p>"Thanks." Ian nods. "I'm sorry I freaked out."</p><p>Mickey starts to chuckle. "No one needs to apologize to me about freaking out. Especially not you."</p><p>Ian's sad smile turns to a full grin, and Mickey has to look away because he knows he can easily forget himself if he doesn't. That smile. That cocky beautiful smirk from those damn pink lips. <em> Ugh. Get a grip, Mickey. </em></p><p>"We should go out," Ian says suddenly and with a little urgency in his voice. </p><p>"What?" Mickey looks back up, confused.</p><p>"Let’s go out."</p><p>"What, like a date?"</p><p>"No, not a date. We’re supposed to be tryin' to be friends, remember?" Ian snickers.</p><p>"Err, yeah."</p><p>'Let’s go have lunch or something."</p><p>"Today?"</p><p>"Why not? My treat for you having so much patience with me."</p><p>"Um, okay. Let’s have lunch," Mickey reluctantly agrees. He's starting to feel warmth in his belly just looking at Ian and thinks that can't be good, so this lunch thing sounds dangerous, but he's gonna go. Because they're gonna be friends. Maybe. He doesn't know. <em> Sounds exhausting. </em></p><p>They go to a burger joint nearby for lunch, but Mickey’s uneasy feeling continues. He is also feeling apprehensive because of his recent acquaintance with feeling normal and having some peace and worrying that this lunch may interfere with that. He doesn’t want to talk about anything heavy or bring up the past or discuss any dalliances with demons. Mickey just wants to eat lunch and talk about cars—‘cos only cars make sense—and keep his eyes in the friend zone and the butterflies at bay. Sure. Easy enough.</p><p>Ian seems to want the same thing and the conversation on the walk there is light and casual, at times it is also quiet, but lacks any awkwardness. Their food comes fast and after the first five minutes of gorging themselves like neither of them have ever eaten, Ian wipes the grease off his face and smiles widely at Mickey.</p><p>“What?” Mickey quirks his eyebrow and his mouth, nervous that Ian is about to flirt or say something stupid.</p><p>“Can I ask you something?”</p><p>
  <em> Oh, shit. Here he goes. </em>
</p><p>“Yeah, I guess.” Mickey grimaces.</p><p>“What was it like to take a ride in that car you were in?” Ian is almost bouncing in his seat.</p><p>“What? The Charger?” Mickey asks.</p><p>“Yeah, when you went with Audre the other day.” Ian is smiling from ear to ear and he takes another grotesquely big bite of his “California Burger”. (<em> Apparently if you put avocado on anything it becomes Californian. </em> He muses to himself and thinks that he’ll have to remember to tell Audre that.)</p><p>“Oh, man.” Mickey shakes his head and smiles widely, trying to finish the bite he just took. “That thing is amazing. The rumble of the engine. The power… I can’t describe it.”</p><p>“Yeah?” Ian looks so young, his face is wide open and his cheeks are little rosy apples.</p><p>“You ever been in a muscle car?” Mickey realizes that it is very possible that Ian had not.</p><p>“I…ugh…” Ian clears his throat and takes a drink, pretending to have something in his throat when he was obviously faltering. “I knew this guy who had a new Mustang. Rode in it a few times, but it never sounded like that.”</p><p>“That’s ‘cos it’s not.” Mickey shakes his head, deciding to ignore whatever choked Ian up. “The new generations are fucking cool and also powerful. They’re slick, but they’re just not the same. They don’t have the same heat to them. I don’t know how to explain it. Plus, it probably didn’t have a Hemi engine in it.”</p><p>“Um…” Ian is chewing on the inside of his lip.</p><p>“What? Spit it out.”</p><p>“Can you explain to me what a Hemi is?” Ian looks embarrassed and Mickey can’t help but smile at him and thinks he looks adorable.</p><p>“Yeah, man. Don’t be embarrassed to ask. I’d be worried if you weren’t asking questions. I didn’t know most of this shit when I started. And I would bet a lot of people don’t. I just got really excited when I started working on the Charger and basically studied everything I could find on sixties and seventies muscle cars. And Audre never shuts up about it, she’ll give you entire history lessons whether you care or not.”</p><p>Ian beams at Mickey, seeming to relax in his seat. Then Mickey proceeds to give him a quick and dirty lesson on the different types of engines and different types of eight-cylinder engines in particular, including the Hemi. The conversation stays focused on this all the way back to the shop and Mickey is not only relieved, but he is feeling good.</p><p>Work the rest of the day is easy and Mickey is able to start working on the Chevelle, which he plans to do well into the night. He even has some things planned out to show Ian that he thinks will benefit his learning. Mickey feels a little nervous about being alone with Ian in the shop again, but he feels if lunch was any indication then maybe they can be friends and be civil and not have to bear their souls or eye fuck each other.</p><p>“You wanna take a look at this with me? I got a few things to show you,” Mickey tells Ian after everyone else has left.</p><p>“Okay, but I’m only gonna be here until six,” Ian tells him, and Mickey is shocked at how disappointed he feels. <em> Better put that on the fucking chart. </em></p><p>“Oh, yeah?” Mickey says.</p><p>“Yeah, gotta go help Lip with some more stuff, but I’m gonna come in early tomorrow and clean and set up if that’s okay.”</p><p>“Yeah, that’s alright, but I’m probably gonna be working late, so keep it down. I’m not gettin' up at the butt crack of dawn tomorrow.”</p><p>Ian nods his head and is rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.</p><p>“What are you guys up to?” Mickey asks, but immediately feels weird about it. “Sorry. That’s none of my business.”</p><p>“No, it’s fine.” Ian shrugs. “He bought this house down the street, and it needs a lot of work. No one has taken care of it in years. So, we’ve all been chipping in and trying to help him and his girlfriend get it fixed up. What we can do anyway. The place is a fuckin’ shithole.”</p><p>“That’s really cool.” Mickey is sincere and thinks that Ian is a good brother to Lip and he hopes that Lip is good to Ian as well.</p><p>They work together on the Chevelle until Ian has to leave and Mickey is kind of sad he is leaving, but also feels like he needs the time to just be with the car. Work with her. Meditate on the innerworkings. Feel her cool metal and be in his own space with her. Because he needs it. And it’s good for him. And she’ll be gone soon. And that makes him even sadder than Ian leaving.</p><p>***</p><p>Mickey’s sitting in Audre’s dive, as they have started calling it, on Thursday night, waiting for her to show up. He had left Ian alone at the shop, who looked a little wounded when Mickey told him he had plans. </p><p>Nothing really remarkable had gone on during the day except Mickey realizing that Willie hadn’t come out of the office all week and had come in late every day, but he hadn’t checked on him. He still needs space from the other man. </p><p>Mickey had also noticed an uneasy feeling because it seemed like it had been too many days since he’d freaked out, since something shitty had happened or had a nightmare. Too many days since an overwhelming conversation or doing something regrettable. But he felt like that was a stupid thing to be worried about. It was like worrying about being worried. He remembers Audre calling that “putting a head on top of a head”—whatever the fuck that means. But it also sounds right. So he cut that shit out by mid-day.</p><p>Mickey is only there alone for about fifteen minutes, but it is a long fifteen minutes; the place is simply dreary without his friend there, but lucky for him Audre bursts through the door in her usual fashion and it’s like Norm walking into Cheers. She has ingratiated herself to everyone at the bar and they all greet her. For her part, Audre seems to know everyone’s name and asks the guy at the pool table about his kid’s broken arm and the barfly in the corner if she had found her cat. The bartender has her beer ready, and she hands him a bag that she later tells Mickey has homeopathic medicine in it that is supposed to help his lung function. Not cure it. No curing what was happening there, but would probably just help him sleep a little better. Predictably Mickey calls her a hippy and asks if she had to have someone mail it to her from San Francisco, she back hands his shoulder, and they laugh.</p><p>Mickey smiles brightly at her, thinking he probably got lucky having her as a friend because so many people really suck.</p><p>“What’s with the goofy smile?” she asks.</p><p>“Nothin’.” He shrugs. “It’s just good to see you.”</p><p>“Awe, that’s so sweet.” She’s teasing him, but she also means it.</p><p>Their conversation revolves around the Chevelle as Mickey tells her how much work has been done and how much left there is to do. Without meaning to, they both get a little drunk, causing their volume and excitement to rise, but no one else seems to care and someone puts AC/DC on the jukebox, causing a festive mood that infects the whole bar that is usually much more subdued even with Audre around. Much to Mickey’s relief, Audre doesn’t bring up Rita-Mae or Ian, and they have a fun night all around.</p><p>Audre convinces him to get an Uber home because she’s worried he’s too drunk and he rolls his eyes at her, but does what she says anyway. By the time he gets home he is unable to stop smiling and he feels like the last few days have been the best he’s had in weeks. He knows it won’t last. He knows he still has a lot to deal with and that things with Ian can’t stay casual forever. Even if they were to become and only be friends, there is too much intensity that has to be addressed. He knows his triggers are still there and that he has a lot of work to do in therapy that will inevitably cause him to have some really tough days and nights, but he revels in the feeling of normalcy and giddiness.</p><p>So, Mickey falls asleep with a warm glow that leads to yet another nightmare free night.</p><p>***</p><p>In 1970, Chevrolet produced four thousand four hundred and seventy-five Chevelles. Of those, buyers had the option of putting in the LS6 454 Big-Block V-8 engine, which was incredibly powerful, and something simply not done before that. Not everyone wanted this option, the power being what some thought was unnecessary and probably overwhelming, so the Chevelle LS6 454 was only a fraction of those produced. That makes these cars rare and a muscle car enthusiast's wet dream. A fully restored hard top with the original engine has an estimated value of $122,000. Even just a burnt up skeleton of this car can run up to $12,000.</p><p>The Chevy Chevelle sitting in the garage at Willie's auto repair is indeed an LS6 454. A rare car with power and attitude, that Mickey currently has the privilege of returning to its former glory. Right now she's more primer than color, but she is still a beauty to behold with her sexy sloped slick top that follows rounded curves over a wide back end. She is magnificent and Mickey is about to start her up--about to hear her roar and rumble for the first time since she has been put together with her engine securely in place.</p><p>It's Friday night, and Mickey had started working on the Chevelle at six in the morning, then started back up again mid-afternoon, attempting to get her where she needed to be by that night. Ian stayed late with him and it was obvious that Mickey's excitement, that was so thoroughly charged and overflowing that it became raw energy radiating outside of his body, had infected him and he was vibrating with enthusiasm next to Mickey.</p><p>Because Audre had plans--that Mickey suspects means she is with Rita-Mae--she couldn't be there, so they agreed they would facetime when the momentous occasion happened. She is on now and Ian is holding the phone on Mickey as he drops the hood down, which makes a satisfying slam.</p><p>Mickey turns and looks at the camera. "You ready?" He asks.</p><p>"Hell yeah, I'm ready. Let's get this show on the road, Milkovich," Audre exclaims.</p><p>Mickey grabs the phone and turns the view back around on selfie mode. "Let's do this."</p><p>Mickey gets in the Chevelle and sets Audre up on the dash, while Ian stands outside the car, hands shoved in his pockets and beaming at Mickey. Right when he sticks the key in the ignition, Rita-Mae pops into frame, beer in hand.<em> I fuckin' knew it, </em> Mickey thinks, but then smiles to himself.</p><p>"Here we go," Mickey says and they start a countdown from five, all four people chanting in unison: "Five-four-three-two-one." </p><p>The key turns and the spark ignites the mixture of gasoline and oxygen, creating combustion—mini explosions—that then breathes life into the Chevelle. She roars, finally awake from a long slumber, and the humans that had been waiting with bated breath, cheer and hoot and holler. She's alive, and Mickey feels like he might cry.</p><p>In fact he does. He and Audre smile at each other and laugh, shedding a few tears of joy each as they gleam with pride.</p><p>"We did it," Mickey says to Audre, Rita-Mae no longer in frame.</p><p>"You did it," Audre says with a knowing glance. Mickey looks down shyly for a second, but she won't allow it. "Hey!" she says just below a shout.</p><p>Mickey looks up, tonguing the seam of his mouth. "What?" He is almost laughing, and he feels something that wants to burst from him and he thinks it's pride.</p><p>"<em> You </em> did this," Audre says again with emphasis. "I'm proud of you."</p><p>His cheeks flush with color, and he smiles at his friend on the little screen. "I'm proud of me too." He says it outloud, making it real, confirming it's true and he feels really good.</p><p>Ian takes over as videographer and they open up the hood so they can see and hear the inner workings as the Chevelle idles loudly. They all share a few more congratulatory exultations and Audre thanks Mickey, which makes him blush again, then they turn off the engine and end the call.</p><p>Ian pats Mickey firmly on the back and it's friendly, almost affectionate, but Mickey finds himself wanting more and kind of hating himself for it. But he refuses to let the joy of the moment be overshadowed by self-loathing and confusing misguided longing. So, he turns and smiles at Ian, who has the biggest dopiest Ian Gallagher grin possible stretched across his face, and he loves it. Loves the smile. Loves that Ian’s happy too. Loves the freckles on his face. Loves that he’s there with him during this moment that means so much. Loves everything about it, except how freaked out he is by the fact that he loves it.</p><p>“We should celebrate,” Ian tells Mickey.</p><p>“What?” Mickey steps back and sizes Ian up.</p><p>“Yeah. Let’s go out tonight.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“You keep saying that.” Ian shakes his head. “Let’s go out.”</p><p>“Where?” One of Mickey’s eyebrows goes up sharply.</p><p>“Let’s go to one of the clubs.” Ian looks so enthusiastic it's almost cartoonish.</p><p>“Are you joking?”</p><p>“I’m not. It’ll be fun.”</p><p>“I don’t think so.” Mickey shakes his head.</p><p>“What’s wrong with fun?”</p><p>“It doesn’t sound fun.”</p><p>“Come on.” Ian tilts his head to the side and gives Mickey a look that is not unfamiliar to him, just very distant. It’s the you-know-you-want-to-give-into-me-because-you-think-I’m-cute look, and many many moons ago it had the power to sway even Mickey’s toughest resolve. And that might be happening now. </p><p>“Let’s loosen up. You can have a few drinks, listen to music.” Ian is doing his best to convince Mickey.</p><p>“I don’t know, Ian.”</p><p>“If you hate it we can leave and go get coffee or go to a movie or something.”</p><p>Mickey knows it’s a bad idea, but he feels himself giving in despite the little voice in the back of his head that is telling him that he is absolutely crazy for agreeing to go to Boystown with Ian. </p><p>“Fine, but no promises I’m gonna wanna stick around.” Mickey states his terms. “And I’m not fuckin’ dancing. I don’t dance.”</p><p>“That’s fine, Mickey. Whatever you want to do.” Ian can barely contain his excitement and is vibrating in his shoes.</p><p>“Fuck. Fine.” Mickey is immediately regretting his decision, but doesn’t feel like he can walk it back.</p><p>After they clean up around the garage, Ian heads home to get ready and Mickey stomps up to his room, feeling apprehensive and trying not to let his brain get ahead of itself. He is nervous, but there is also part of him that feels himself buzzing with anticipation. But fuck if that anticipation doesn’t make him anxious also. It’s not like they are on a date and he can just let himself go. He isn’t going with any romantic intention or hopes he is going to get laid. He’s going with someone that he has a history with, who he is trying to be friends with in order to celebrate months of his hard work. And that should be okay. That should be good. That should be enough. He just isn’t sure it is or that it will be as the night goes on.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello Everyone-</p><p>Sorry this chapter took so long to get to you, but I had to take a break. Life sorta just happens. I hope it was worth the wait. Chapter 8 should be up by next Sunday.</p><p>You may have noticed I added a tenth chapter, but I actually think it may end up at eleven. We'll see how it unfolds.</p><p>As always, thank you all for your encouragement and support and for reading along.</p><p>I hope that you are all practicing good self-care during the changing of the seasons, and this unusual point in time and space. I'm sending out warmth and positive energy to all of you.</p><p>💖,</p><p>The Black Cat</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter is dedicated to the Chaos Saloon—my road clowns, my support heifers, my chaotic sisters in arms. When I sat down to map out this fic they helped me brain storm what became the pivotal point of this story. This fic would not be what it is without them. Much love and thanks. 💖</p><p>Please note, this chapter may contain what are actual triggers for some people. Please read my tags. I'm not going to give anything away other than to say that. But I want you all safe and well, so I felt I needed to remind everyone to check those I have selected or written in.</p><p>💖💖💖</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mickey is sitting at the bar waiting for Ian. The sounds and smells of the club already enveloping him as he takes a second shot and wonders what the fuck he’s doing there. Then out of the corner of his eye he sees what he's been waiting for—a dancing flame, a strobing red light, a tall bouncing ginger heading straight for him.</p><p>Mickey realizes he isn't breathing as Ian comes closer to him. He looks too good—deep green t-shirt pulled tight across his broad chest that is revealed off and on, teasing from behind his simple leather jacket that sways back and forth with the movement of his body. Ian looks poured into his black jeans that are molded to him, revealing muscular thighs. He simply takes Mickey's breath away.</p><p>"Hey, Mickey," Ian greets him with a big toothy grin that is sexy and quirky at the same time. No stools are available, so Ian leans into the bar next to Mickey, the front of Ian's thigh subtly pressing against the outside of Mickey's. And it feels like fire is shooting up Mickey’s leg and straight to his groin. </p><p>"Hey." Mickey is dazed and his own voice echoes in his head. <em>Snap out of it you fuckin' weirdo! </em>Mickey tells himself. "You clean up well, Gallagher." Mickey successfully pulls off teasing Ian without it sounding too flirty, having enough snark to be perfectly Mickey.</p><p>"Well." Ian blushes anyway and rolls his head to the side to look at Mickey from top to bottom. "You managed to polish up pretty good too."</p><p>Heat rises up Mickey's neck and to his face so quickly there is no hiding it. <em> This was a bad idea. </em> </p><p>"Ian!" A loud booming voice accompanied by a thunderous slap on the bar jars both men from their ill advised admiration of one another. They turn and the bartender with a short mop of tight black curls is in front of them, grinning and looking at Ian.</p><p>"Hey! Marco!" Ian and the other man do some weird handshake that lifts Mickey's eyebrows to his hairline involuntarily. It shows familiarity and something a little more than a passing acquaintance.</p><p>"Howya been?" he asks Ian.</p><p>"I'm good. Well, better." Ian shrugs and gives a sheepish smile. "You know."</p><p>"Hey, honey, no one is judging you here." Marco gives a flirty smile as he attempts to reassure Ian. </p><p>Marco is obviously aware of Ian's arrest and probably the well-publicized meltdown that led to it. Mickey and Ian hadn't talked about it, but it had been an unavoidable piece of news in the Chicago area, and really the entire state of Illinois—probably a few other places too. So it isn't surprising that this person who Ian obviously knows pretty well would know about it. And since they were in a gay club, and Ian's arrest was directly related to some brand of what many considered fanatical queer activism, it’s safe to assume that a lot of people in the club know who Ian is. Mickey all of a sudden feels exposed sitting next to him, and he wants to jump out of his seat and run away.</p><p>"I know." Ian smiles, but looks down at his hands, trying to hide what Mickey sees is a sliver of shame. "I appreciate it." Ian gives his best smile, but Mickey isn't buying it.</p><p>Marco sucks his bottom lip in between his teeth and starts undressing Ian with his eyes starting with the tight cloth across his chest. It isn't subtle in any way and it makes Mickey want to punch him. "Your sweet ass has definitely been missed though."</p><p><em> Holy fucking shit. I'm gonna kill this guy. Wait. No. That's all wrong. What am I doing? </em>Mickey is struggling in his head and he knocks back the rest of his beer, setting it down a little too forcefully on the bar, causing Ian to startle next to him.</p><p>"Marco, this is my friend Mickey." Ian pats Mickey's shoulder firmly. <em> Real friendly. Thanks, guy. </em></p><p>Marco leans on the bar, looking closely at Mickey with dark brown eyes that look black in the dim light of the club. "I've seen <em> you </em>in here before, Mickey." Marco gives a devilish smile and backs off the bar slowly. "What'll you two have? Round’s on me."</p><p>Mickey knows he's shooting daggers out of his eyes, but he can't help it, and honestly Marco doesn't seem to care. Ian takes the liberty of ordering for both of them, while Mickey tries to control his nostrils flaring.</p><p>"Friend of yours?" Mickey’s tone is accusatory and he grinds his jaw involuntarily.</p><p>Ian gives a sarcastic smile. "I used to work here." They make eye contact, and Ian gives him a knowing look. "And after I didn't work here anymore I would come here and dance and fuck."</p><p>"Ian, look—"</p><p>"No, you look. Listen." Mickey quiets. "You know I'm bipolar, Mickey, and I spent a lot of time here at my most manic, but I also came here to hang out with friends when I wasn't. I'm good now. I'm not doing drugs or drinking or engaging in risky behaviors"—which Mickey knows is code for unprotected sex—"I'm taking my meds and working out and seeing my PO, my psychiatrist, my therapist, and I'm monitoring my symptoms. And this beer right here?" Ian points to beer on the bar. "Is the lowest alcohol content they have and I'll nurse it all night. But I have to do something I used to enjoy, something that feels normal to me or I'll just end up exploding.”</p><p>Mickey nods head. "What's normal about this to you? What do you like about it?" Mickey thinks he sounds like he's challenging, but he's not. He really wants to understand.</p><p>Ian sighs softly and looks around. "I love how free it feels, people abandoning their inhibitions. No self consciousness. Look at them. No fear. Just joy. Just love."</p><p>"And horniness." Mickey smiles over his glass, unable to help himself. </p><p>Ian laughs. "That too. Look at all these bodies moving to the music, feeling the beat, dancing to one heartbeat."</p><p>It sounds corny and Mickey wants to laugh, but he thinks Ian might cry if he does because he means what he's saying and he feels it. </p><p>"Alright," is all Mickey says. </p><p>"Hey! We're supposed to be celebrating, remember?" Ian lifts his glass. "To the Chevelle and all your hard work!" Ian exclaims and they toast, and Mickey gets a shy smile. </p><p>They migrate to a table that's been vacated, sitting in a bit of an awkward silence that isn't really silent with the repetitive four on the floor beats and stomping sounds of revelers. Mickey shifts a little uncomfortably as the obvious ogling begins.</p><p>"You're popular." Mickey adjusts his soft poly cotton button up in a strained attempt to avoid eye contact with Ian. </p><p>"They're looking at you too, you dumbass." Ian's grin is ear to ear and he lets out a throaty laugh that vibrates Mickey's chest.</p><p>"No, they're fucking not." Mickey looks at him incredulously. </p><p>"They are." Ian can't stop laughing. "I was walking behind you. I saw three different guys checking you out—well, mostly checking your ass out."</p><p>"Shut the fuck up."</p><p>"Why would I lie about that?"</p><p>"I dunno." <em> To humor me. To fuck with me. To flirt with me. </em></p><p>"Well, I'm not." Ian tilts his head and looks at him sideways. "You don't know you're hot, do you?"</p><p>"What?" Mickey is stunned. How do you even respond to that?</p><p>"You don't know that you're hot. That you're attractive."</p><p>"I mean…" Mickey sits back and gulps down his drink. "I know I'm not ugly. And I've always done alright."</p><p>"Yeah, but like you walk in here and guys notice you, and you don't see them at all and that makes it even sexier."</p><p>"I don't think this is how friends talk to each other." Mickey gestures between the two of them.</p><p>"Sure they do. They tell each other the truth. And the truth is you think everyone is looking at me because I'm hot—"</p><p>"And really modest, apparently."</p><p>"And also 'cos I was Gay Jesus."</p><p>"Yeah, that too."</p><p>"But really they're looking at you too. A lot." </p><p>Mickey studies Ian's eyes and he sees a glint of what could be jealousy, but it might be his imagination and then it’s gone. </p><p>As if on cue, two men decked out in the uniform worn by those about to be caught up in reckless abandon twirl in front of Mickey and Ian, pleather, mesh, glitter and hair bleach. And lots and lots of eyeliner. They lean into the table.</p><p>"Look at you two." The more alternative looking one of the two with his bleached blonde hair, septum ring and dog collar, drawls at them.</p><p>"Mmmmm. You look surly." The dark haired man with way too much glitter on his face says as he looks at Mickey. "I like that."</p><p>"Excuse me?" Mickey's hackles are up and he needs these flaming little fags to get the fuck away from him.</p><p>"Hey, guys, listen…" Ian waves at them as he is attempting to keep Mickey from losing his shit and also from maybe violating his parole. "We're trying to have a private conversation."</p><p>"Oh, who's a diva now that he's out of prison?"</p><p>"Excuse me, princess."</p><p>"No, it's Jesus." </p><p>Mickey's nostrils are flaring and he's holding the table top tight. "You better shut the fuck up and get out of here or you're really gonna be praying for Jesus, you little faggot fucks!" Mickey is about to stand up, but Ian pulls him down.</p><p>The other two men have stepped back with gaping mouths due to Mickey's verbal aggression. </p><p>"You guys better go," Ian tells them and that's all they need. They turn around and high tail it towards the dance floor. </p><p>"You know those fuckheads?" Mickey growls.</p><p>"I don't." Ian shakes his head.</p><p>"Well, they know you," Mickey spits out, fidgeting with his shirt again. "Stupid bitches talking to you like you have some obligation to talk to them. I'll kick their fucking asses."</p><p>"No. You won't." Ian is smiling at Mickey trying to calm him down. "They aren't worth it."</p><p>"It doesn't bother you?"</p><p>"I'm not loving it, but I also know the more I fight with them about it the more guys like them will do it. I don't care. I know what I did, and I suffered the consequences. Shit, I was a light-weight cult leader." Ian laughs but shakes his head and looks down. A shadow creeps across Ian's eyes and Mickey thinks he sees his lip quiver. "Fuck, I was just really sick, Mickey." Ian looks up at Mickey then and they lock eyes.</p><p>"You're better now," Mickey says with a reassuring look. </p><p>"I am." Ian nods. "And I want to stay better. And I also want you to understand what happened. But now's not the time to talk about it." Ian shakes his head and forces a smile. And it breaks Mickey's heart. It's so, so fucking heart breaking.</p><p>“Whaddya want to talk 'bout then?” Mickey asks him.</p><p>“I want to talk about you and your work.”</p><p>“What about it?”</p><p>“Do you love it?”</p><p>Mickey sits for a second and thinks about it. “Most of the time. I enjoy it. I like it a lot. But I love it when I’m working on older cars.”</p><p>“Like the Chevelle.”</p><p>“There is no car like the Chevelle.”</p><p>“Is that true?” Ian tilts his head and squints his eyes.</p><p>“Probably not.” Mickey laughs a little. “Well, kinda. There are few cars like that particular car. That car is definitely special. But there are other classic cars that are also special like that one. Each car has a set of circumstances that make it more or less valuable. So, for example, Audre’s Chevelle with the type of engine that’s in it was already a pretty rare car, but the Chevelle’s like that car with the LS6 in them that were <em> also </em> convertibles are even more rare. And worth a lot of money.”</p><p>“Really?” Ian’s eyebrow quirks. “So, that car is worth a lot of money?”</p><p>“Oh, yeah. It has the original engine and we worked hard to get as many original parts instead of newly fabricated parts as possible. It still needs work. Needs body work, but when that’s all done it could be worth over seventy-five, eighty thousand easily. Maybe more.”</p><p>“Wow!” Ian’s eyes are huge.</p><p>“You take the year the car was made, how many of the make and model were made that year, how many of those were made with certain types of engines or modifications like a convertible top or special exhaust… and then there also is durability of the car. Some cars rolled off the assembly line as pieces of shit, so no one gives a shit about that. But there are just some cars people really jizz all over themselves about still. I also think a lot of seventies babies like Audre are old enough now and have enough money to pay too much for cars that remind them of their childhood.”</p><p>Both men laugh. “Don’t fuckin’ tell Audre I said that; she has a mean jab.” Mickey can’t help but smile. He looks over at Ian and for a moment Ian has that look. <em> That </em>look. But Mickey sees him put it away quickly and he feels relieved. If Ian kept looking at him like that he would surely fall apart.</p><p>“But why do you love working on older cars?” Ian asks. “It can’t be because other people think they’re special. That’s not very Mickey Milkovich of you.”</p><p>“What does that fuckin’ mean?” Mickey laughs. “No, it’s not ‘cos of that. I love the way they feel, and the engines roar, and the power they have. And they are <em> machines </em>. It's raw steel and rubber and chrome. There's no navigation system or bluetooth or EC unit. It's just a fucking car. You can open it up and see how it's running. You can learn what's wrong with it using all your senses. Listen, look, smell, touch—"</p><p>"But not taste." Ian laughs.</p><p>"Well, one time I saw Willie dab his finger in engine oil and taste it."</p><p>"What?" Ian exclaims, eyes wide.</p><p>"He said: 'There's gas in the oil. Check the carburetor.' And fucking walked away."</p><p>"Was it the carburetor?" </p><p>"Fuck yeah it was." Mickey laughs. "I wanna be that good one day. And one day I want to work some place where that's all I do."</p><p>"I don't think you should be tasting fluids from cars, Mickey." Ian laughs and Mickey gently scoffs. </p><p>"No, asshole, work on classic cars. You know, like the Chevelle and the Charger."</p><p>"Why work at someone else's shop?" Ian’s lips slice across his face and he looks brightly at Mickey. "Why not own your own place?"</p><p>Mickey is a little blown away by Ian's words. He sits back and thinks about the fact that maybe his dream is narrow and maybe he can want something bigger for himself. It had just not occurred to him that was possible until Ian made it real. Shit, he hadn’t even thought a dream was possible until the last few days.</p><p>"You love doing it. You already know so much, and seem to learn fast. You're a great teacher. And you've always had a head for numbers. At least you used to. I'm assuming that's still true."</p><p>"Yeah," Mickey says shyly.</p><p>"I think you totally could do it one day. It would be amazing! You should start thinking of a name."</p><p>"No. Come on." Mickey waves him off and laughs. "That's crazy."</p><p>"No seriously!" Ian looks so excited and hopeful and spirited… it makes Mickey want to feel that way too. </p><p>"Milkovich Motors," Ian throws out.</p><p>"Naw. No Milkovich. Fuck that. Mickey's Motors."</p><p>"Mickey's Muscle Cars."</p><p>"Too obvious."</p><p>"Southside Classics." Ian moves his hands like he's reading it on a marquis, and Mickey beams up at him.</p><p>Their banter becomes more and more playful and they are smiling and laughing as they throw out more and more ridiculous names with a few good ones that Mickey tries to commit to memory, but he is feeling the booze soaking his brain more and more and it is guiding his judgement. </p><p>It would feel so good to touch Ian right now, to put his hand on his face and touch their lips together. It would feel so good to have his long arms around Mickey’s body and feel Ian’s nose buried in his neck. Fuck, it would be so amazing to lean into that touch and press his body up against his and experience the wave of pleasure he knows would come with it. But it’s not a good idea. Not here in this club. If he freaked out here… he doesn’t even want to think about it.</p><p>Ian leans in, and for a second Mickey thinks the decision has been made for him. “I gotta take a piss.” Ian announces in his ear. “I’ll be right back.” He slides out of the booth and leaves Mickey with a warm smile.</p><p>Mickey can’t take his eyes off Ian as he walks away, and he feels lecherous, but he isn’t able to stop. He exhales loudly, feeling confused and kind of frustrated, not sure what he should do. The club seems louder without Ian next to him and the strobe lights make him feel dizzy. Without Ian’s Old Spice and natural smell wafting into his nose he is assaulted by the musty aroma of sweat, overstimulation, and desperation. He starts to feel uneasy and uncomfortable.</p><p>Mickey finally spots the top of Ian’s head bobbing in the crowd of swaying, writhing bodies. Every step he takes closer to Mickey, he sees the redhead being tugged back and sideways, people grabbing onto his arms and shoulders and ass. Mickey sees men of every shape and size checking him out and clamoring for his attention. Granted it probably wasn’t as many people as it seemed, but to Mickey’s drunken mind it was every man in the club.</p><p>“Mickey!” Ian starts to shout when he is about twenty feet away from him. “Come dance with me!”</p><p>“What?” Mickey yells back.</p><p>Ian jogs up to him and touches Mickey’s shoulder and it feels warm and firm and he wants to feel both of those big paws on him, roughly pulling him in.</p><p>“Dance with me, Mickey!” Ian is bouncing and smiling, and he pulls Mickey to his feet. “I love this song. Dance with me. Just one song.”</p><p>“I told you I don’t dance.” Mickey shook his head. “That was the deal.”</p><p>“Come on!” Ian pleads. “It’s one of my favorite songs.” Mickey wonders if that's true or if he is just trying to make him feel guilty.</p><p>He can’t do it. Can’t ever lose himself enough to dance in a club full of so many people. “No, dance without me.” Mickey shakes his head again and moves backwards. </p><p>"No way!" Ian says.</p><p>"It's fine." Mickey shoos Ian away. "I'll be right here. I'll make sure no one roofies our drinks."</p><p>"You sure?" Ian looks conflicted, but his shoulders are already moving and his hips are already starting to undulate to the rhythm. Mickey nods. "Okay. Just a few songs." </p><p>Ian smiles and starts to move backwards into the crowd, keeping his gaze on Mickey. He lifts his arms in the air and somehow slides easily into the organism that is the dance floor. He isn't dancing with anyone in particular, but he looks sultry, every move seductive, and he just looks so goddamn sexy that Mickey can't breathe.</p><p>Mickey sits back in the booth, eyes on Ian as he tosses back the rest of the drink. The waiter/lap dancer comes around, temporarily blocking his view of Ian, and takes his drink order. By the time he moves his sequined ass out of the way Ian has gotten himself sandwiched between a fit looking middle aged man and a young glittery twink that might be too young to be there in the club with them. They are all pressed together, moving as one, but also moving with the crowd and it looks like the dance floor is breathing. It's alive, one beast made up of many little beasts, pulsating, touching, stimulating. And in the middle of the dance floor, blazing and glowing, is Ian Gallagher. He doesn't seem concerned about how people see him in that moment, and he sways, grinds and plays with no self-consciousness.</p><p>Mickey is transfixed, but he starts to feel the lump grow in his throat and a pool of ice water in his tummy. Instead of seeing Ian smiling and having fun he can only see the other men pawing him, grinding against him, trying to possess him. And Ian lapping it up. Mickey starts to feel anger creeping up. By the time the waiter/lap dancer brings him his drink he is enraged. </p><p>Mickey slams his drink back and he can feel heat moving into his brain, worming it's way in. <em> Why does he have to act like that? Why the fuck does he want to be rubbing up against all those fucking fruits? Why does he have to be such a fucking fag? </em></p><p>He's had enough, and he is fighting his instinct, which is to go over and rip Ian away, beat the shit out every guy that's touching him—especially that old fucker—and drag Ian out of the club. But he has no right to do that. Ian isn't his. Not anymore. Maybe he never was.</p><p>
  <em> And what the fuck is Ian trying to do anyway? Huh? Make him jealous, tempt him, taunt him for being in the closet? Fuck him too! </em>
</p><p>He has to get out of there and get out of there quick. He isn't afraid of an anxiety attack, but he is afraid he's going to hurt someone and he really doesn't want it to be Ian. And he also really doesn't want to go back to prison. So he pulls out his phone and orders a car, deciding not to wait inside. Mickey gets up and looks over at Ian one last time, who doesn't see him. Doesn't see Mickey. He stomps off as quickly as he can and heads outside. </p><p>There is a car nearby. Four minutes. But Mickey lights up as he waits on the sidewalk. <em> Spent more money on fucking Ubers than I've spent on fucking food, </em> he grouses to himself.</p><p>It's chilly out, but the car comes quickly. Mickey is relieved as he crushes his cigarette out on the pavement.</p><p>Mickey opens the door and just as he's getting in a voice is behind him.</p><p>“Wait!” </p><p>Right when Mickey thought he was in the clear, getting away from that fucking scene, away from the lights and the smells and the leering glances and thirsty looks. Away from conflicting feelings he can’t act on, and anger that is turning his stomach. Away from Ian. Right when he thinks he's away from all that, Ian jumps in the Uber with him, sliding in right next to him in the back seat.</p><p>“What are you doing? Why are you here?” Mickey hisses at him, upset that Ian noticed he had left.</p><p>“I’m going back with you,” Ian tells him with a furrowed brow. “You could have told me you wanted to go.”</p><p>"You were busy." Mickey's tone is caustic.</p><p>"It was only one song. You said it was okay." Ian is all but whining and Mickey feels some sick pleasure from it. </p><p>"What do I fuckin' care? Do whatever you want." Mickey starts to chew on his thumb nail and looks out the window. He's relieved the driver isn't trying to chat and had started driving without a word.</p><p>"Okay. Fine." Ian sits back defiantly and there is nothing but silence for the rest of the drive.</p><h3>
  <b>***</b>
</h3><p>When they get to the garage, Mickey jumps out, but Ian pauses to thank the driver. Ian doesn’t wait to be asked up, he just follows Mickey to his room. And Mickey doesn’t invite him in, but he also doesn’t tell him to leave. He is fuming and is even more upset that he can’t decide why he's mad. He thinks he's more mad at himself than anything else.</p><p>"Why did you just take off like that? You just left me there," Ian starts in as soon as the door is closed behind him.</p><p>"I'm surprised you even noticed I was gone," Mickey retorts.</p><p>"Are you fucking serious?"</p><p>Mickey whips around, glaring at Ian. "What was the point of all that? Were you trying to make me jealous?"</p><p>"What? No. I was just dancing." Ian looks at him in disbelief.</p><p>"Bullshit," Mickey spits out.</p><p>"You told me to go ahead and dance. We're trying to build a friendship, Mickey. Why would I do that?" Ian pauses, obviously thinking "<em> Were </em> you jealous?"</p><p>"You need to get the fuck out of here. This was a mistake." Mickey points at the door aggressively.</p><p>"No.” Ian crosses his arms and shakes his head, giving Mickey the chin. “Tell me what was a mistake!"</p><p>"All of it. Everything. The club. You and me tryin' to be friends. Me thinking you could just let me be. You could never just let me be."</p><p>"What the fuck does that even mean? You mean now or are you talking about something else? Huh?"</p><p>"You just wouldn’t leave me alone." Mickey starts to feel far away, feel disconnected from the moment, and he is fuming.</p><p>"Seriously?" Ian looks perplexed and his facial features soften.</p><p>"Maybe none of that would have happened…" Mickey catches himself and shakes his head. His eyes are glassy and he can’t look at Ian. “You just wouldn’t stop.”</p><p>"You mean now? Or when we were kids, Mickey? I wouldn’t leave you alone then? I seem to recall you being around all the time and showing up where I was when you knew I was alone. You fucking did that. I didn’t have to chase you around. Is that how you remember it?” His eyes narrow. “Do you even remember it?"</p><p>And he doesn't. Not really. He remembers the feelings and the framework, but there is so much his brain has locked away. The good, the bad, <em> and </em>the ugly. Locked up tight. To protect him. To keep him safe. To help him survive.</p><p>"If you had never shown up it could have been different—I could have been different. I wouldn't have had that shit pulled out of me. I could have just—"</p><p>"Could have just what?"</p><p>Mickey doesn’t speak, the silence says it all.</p><p>"You think if you hadn't ever met me you just wouldn't be gay? Are you fucking kidding me? So this is all my fault? Ian and his magic dick made you a faggot?'</p><p>"Aye!"</p><p>"Aye what, Mickey?" Ian yells. "You think if you had never… Fallen for me, got fucked by me, got destroyed with me…That you could just have been straight?"</p><p>"Who the fuck said I fell for you? You know what though? What happened wouldn't have happened. If we hadn't met each other none of it would have happened. I know you didn't make me gay, but maybe I could have kept it from him. Instead he fucking tormented me for years. 'Cos he knew. Because of you." Mickey’s voice cracks and he feels a weight on his chest so lodged in there he’s afraid it will never leave.</p><p>"Fuck you, Mickey," Ian says quietly. "You still can't accept it, can you? After all these years. And I know there's no way you haven't been with plenty of guys, but you still can't let yourself be who you are." Ian looks sad, but also angry.</p><p>"You don't know who the fuck I am!" Mickey shouts at the top of his lungs, spit flying and veins popping out on his neck.</p><p>"No, I'm pretty sure I do. Pretty sure you're still the same scared kid that would rather pretend to be something he's not than run the risk of other people knowing exactly who he is."</p><p>"Fuck you!"</p><p>"That shit at the PO's office the other day? That's still you being scared someone will know. Someone will see you. I see you, Mickey. I know who you are. And I know you're afraid." Ian's voice softens.</p><p>"I'm not...I don't…" Mickey starts to choke up. He shakes his head and he wraps his arms around himself.</p><p>Ian walks closer to Mickey in the small space of his room. "You don’t have to do this anymore. Your dad's dead, Mickey. That bastard is <em> dead </em>." Ian takes yet another step closer to him, narrowing the gap. "You don't have to keep pretending. No one else cares. No one cared but him and he's dead."</p><p>"That's not true. Lots of people cared." Mickey pauses, mouth open like he wants to say something, but the words are stuck. He looks to the sky with eyes threatening tears. "When we were kids—" he whispers and the words are trapped.</p><p>There is a long pause in their conversation and Mickey lets out a ragged breath from his nose. He feels defensive. Feels the need to attack Ian. Feels old Mickey seeping in. And maybe that's who he really is. Maybe that's always who he was supposed to be, and this shit over the last year has been a fantasy, has been him pretending to be something he’s not. Maybe old Mickey is Mickey and the rest is bullshit. Is theatre. In that moment he feels like he hates Ian and he hates himself. </p><p>"I'm not some fucking faggot like you. You just flaunted it. Put it out there for everyone to see. You still fucking do." He’s shouting again and feeling less connected to reality—less connected to now.</p><p>"You mean I never lied about who I was. I was always myself. And it wasn't always pretty, but it was me.” Ian’s voice slightly falters and Mickey hears it and wonders why it squeezes his chest. “And maybe you're still afraid 'cos you were yourself when you were with me. Maybe you're afraid that you'll be yourself in front of everyone here now."</p><p>"Fuck you. You don't know shit about me."</p><p>"I know you thought I was whoring myself out to Willie. Maybe you even thought I really wanted him or that I wanted—needed—some sugar daddy to take care of me. That's not what I want. Not what I've ever wanted. It’s what I had to do or I’d be dead. It’s never what I wanted, they were never <em> who </em> I wanted. Come on, Mickey. You know that. You <em> know </em> that." </p><p>Ian goes quiet and Mickey looks at the floor and squeezes his eyes.</p><p>"Shut up. Just shut up. I can't." He fists his eyes, pushes back hot angry tears. Flashes of Gallagher, scrawny and shining. Camouflage and wooden gun. Gallagher in flannel, laughing and smiling. Pale, smooth skin, cinnamon sprinkled.  </p><p>
  <em> "I need to see you." Wet green eyes. Desperation. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Blunted nails digging into pale, freckled skin. Smashing lips and tangling tongues, inhaling adolescence.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Hold tight. Hold tighter. Lanky redhead with a crooked smile holding tightest. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Then fear. Then fists. Then he’s gone. </em>
</p><p>Images of a lifetime ago flicker before him. Patches of alabaster skin and smiling pink mouths cross his vision and obscure his view. He’s there. Ian’s with him. Then he’s gone. And Mickey can’t have him back. Can’t have any of it back. Can’t have himself back either. It’s all just gone.  </p><p>"Fuck you! I can't fucking do this. Fuck you." Mickey's tears betray him, flowing freely down his face as he tries to break free from his memory, then Mickey turns to stomp away even though there is nowhere really to go.</p><p>Ian grabs him by the shoulder and spins him around. "You aren't running away from me," Ian tells him.</p><p>Mickey pushes off of him. "Fuck you!"</p><p>Ian grabs Mickey by the collar. "Fuck <em> you </em>. What are you gonna do? You gonna hit me? Would that make you feel better? Huh, tough guy?" Ian is in his face and it feels intrusive, but it also feels familiar.</p><p>Mickey pushes on Ian's chest, gnashing his teeth. "Fuck off.” His voice cracks like an adolescent boy. The boy he once was. The boys they once were. Together.</p><p>"I fucking hate you," Mickey squeaks and lowers his head. His words have no meaning. There is no force behind them and he looks frail. Mickey lifts his hands up and places them on Ian’s wrists, whose hands still hold tight to Mickey’s collar.</p><p>Ian pulls Mickey against him even as he half-heartedly struggles. </p><p>“I fucking hate you,” Mickey gasps quietly as Ian releases his collar and gently knocks away Mickey’s hands. Ian wraps his arms around Mickey’s shoulders and across his upper back, pulling Mickey even closer into him. </p><p>With his face against Ian’s chest, Mickey starts to sob. He has no control as his body releases what feels like ancient pain. “Fuck you,” Mickey whispers with no venom, and he feels his body, that has been so apprehensive and protective, give in.</p><p>Ian's arms are enveloping him, then he brings his right hand up and grabs the nape of Mickey's neck. He gives it a firm but not aggressive squeeze. Ian holds him tight and Mickey is sure that no one has ever held him like that. For comfort. For safety. No one has ever… held him. Maybe his mom, but all that is even more distant than the memories that have held him hostage for so many years. And he wants to push Ian away. Wants to punch his fucking alien looking face. He wants to. He <em> wants </em>. Wants to dissolve into Ian’s chest. Wants to be encased in Gallagher. For warmth. For solace. For refuge.</p><p>Ian absorbs all of Mickey's tears and holds him tighter. Mickey's arms involuntarily wrap around Ian's lower back and he latches on like a vice. Mickey can’t let go or he might fly away. And he feels himself sinking in. Sinking deep into Ian. Ian has him. Has hold of him. And Mickey can feel his heartbeat against his cheek.</p><p>
  <em> Feels his heartbeat and his stomach. The redhead has him. His weight protecting him.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Mickey’s body is his. He belongs to him. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The sound of cracking plaster cuts through the air. He is ripped away. Stolen from him. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Cheek bone fractures. Lung explodes. Blood and the sting of pain has him now. </em>
</p><p>Mickey violently pushes Ian away, tears renewed. And Ian looks stunned.</p><p>“Get out!” Mickey screams at Ian. “You have to get out. It’s not safe with you here!”</p><p>“Mickey!” Ian says, attempting to get near him, but Mickey backs away from him.</p><p>“You have to leave!” Mickey holds his hand in front of him to stop Ian from coming closer. “None of this is real. Nothing you ever said was real. I don’t want you here, Gallagher! Get the fuck out now!”</p><p>“Mickey, no. Please.” Ian’s voice is pleading, but Mickey can’t hear him. “I’m scared for you.”</p><p>“I’m fine, but you have to go. I don’t want you here.” Mickey has stopped shouting, but he is shaking all over.</p><p>“You’re not fine,” Ian says in a low voice, and tears are falling onto his cheeks.</p><p>“Please go.” Mickey’s eyes are wild and full of anguish, but his voice lowers and he sounds desperate for Ian to leave. “I don’t want you here,” he says again, looking Ian in the eyes.</p><p>“Okay,” Ian whispers, bowing his head. “Mickey, I’m here if you need me. Please. Call me.”</p><p>Mickey says nothing. He only stares at him with a watery, far away gaze.</p><p>Ian turns around and slowly walks towards the door taking unusually small strides. He stops and stands up straighter. Mickey can see he wants to turn around, but all it does is make Mickey want to shove him out the door. It’s like Ian can sense his thoughts and he opens the door and walks away.</p><p>Mickey watches Gallagher disappear behind the door. He is gone. Again. He feels the tide of doom coming upon him. Chasing him. Who is he kidding? Who does he think he is? He’s a piece of shit. A fuck up. A criminal. He’s a used up convict, a dog on a choke chain, a beaten down faggot that can never be free. He can never be free. Never free from his father. Never going to be anyone worth anything. Never going to be okay. Terry will always win.</p><p>Mickey closes his eyes and is flooded. A tidal wave of visions, imprints, and memories take over. And he is there. He is right back there again with no control, and he is washed away. Mickey is gone.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <em> "I need to see you!" </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He had run to his door. The boy. The boy with red hair. The boy with the freckled face. The boy maybe he…  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Didn't matter.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Mickey tried to tell himself that. Didn't matter, who the boy was or how Mickey felt. That wasn't the thing that mattered. All that mattered was surviving. And Ian made surviving a whole fuck of a lot harder.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Fuck, but if he couldn't stop. Hadn't been able to since the day a fight turned into a fuck. But it was more than that. It was the first time they had sex. Together. The first time that Mickey'd had sex. Well, that type of sex. It had definitely made him feel like no other sexual encounter he had experienced before. Only this. Only this with the redhead counted. Only Ian. </em>
</p><p><em> But, no. It had been before even </em> <b> <em>that</em> </b> <em> . </em></p><p>
  <em> Maybe it had been that day, that little ginger fuck grew a pair and confronted him about stealing from the Kash ‘n’ Grab where the kid worked. And Mickey's response? Instead of pummeling him like he would have anyone else, Mickey chucked a container of dip at him, purposefully missing Ian's head that housed his pretty, goofy little face. </em>
</p><p><em> But Mickey knew that something had started growing even before </em> <b> <em>that</em> </b> <em> day outside that fucking store. </em></p><p>
  <em> He knew that he had started thinking about Gallagher the day Mandy told Mickey that Gallagher was gay. She’d told him so Mickey would back off of him after she had sicced her brother on Ian just the week before. He admitted to himself that his heart skipped a beat. The idea of a boy in the Southside, in their neighborhood, who was gay? The idea of a boy in the Southside, in the neighborhood who was gay and who actually told someone he was gay? Mickey had stopped breathing. Luckily Mandy hadn't noticed. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "So you can leave him alone now, shithead. Okay!" Mandy yelled and backhanded her brother across the arm. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Ow, what the fuck, Mandy?" Mickey had yelled back, snapped out of his momentary there's-a-gay-boy-in-the-ghetto coma. "How is this my fucking fault? You're the one that said he tried to rape you." </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Well." Mandy crossed her arms in front of her and swiveled gently back and forth. "I lied." </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Why?" Mickey was so irritated with his little sister and he started to realize more and more in that moment that he'd also become irritated that she would try to do something to get that annoying little fuck hurt. "That's bullshit, Mandy." </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Fuck you. I was just upset with him, alright?" Mandy had looked like she wanted to say she was wrong for doing it, but Mickey knew his sister well enough to know she'd choke on her tongue before she'd admit she did anything wrong. So instead she'd flipped him off and walked away.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She had left him to his thoughts that twisted and turned and frightened him. Thoughts that if spoken out loud could get him killed, or worse. And with his father there were definitely things that were worse. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But Mickey knew that was the day. He had definitely noticed him before, but had never admitted he thought he was attractive in any way. That would have been too fucking faggy for him. No way. But as the new information came to light, Mickey let that thought crawl in, and let himself think about the boy who just two days before he had been hunting for the purpose of beating him down. He now knew that Gallagher was gay. And he knew that was the day. The day that Ian Gallagher first invaded his brain. And every day after it only got worse and worse.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Mickey would never admit some things to himself, though. He just couldn’t accept that this scrawny redhead was affecting his life in any way. Like how it affected his business of regularly ripping off the Kash 'n' Grab.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Mickey originally started stealing from the little corner store months before because the owner, Kash, was such a fuckin' pussy and as long as he avoided that bitch wife, Linda, who had bigger balls than her husband, he could take whatever he wanted and fuckall would happen. But without realizing it, or at least not wanting to, he had increased how often he went into the little store to steal. The increase in activity had nothing to do with stealing, but had everything to do with Ian. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Mickey had memorized everyone's schedules at the store. At first mostly to make sure he could avoid Linda as much as possible, but somehow he had managed to have Ian's schedule completely memorized too. He wouldn't or couldn't acknowledge it was for any other reason than casing the place, but the flip flops in his stomach that came when he would see Ian walk into the store from his perch across the street told a very different tale. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Then Ian had started coming by the house to do homework and play video games with Mandy. She had introduced Gallagher to her dad and other brothers as her boyfriend. Only thing Terry had said was, "You better not knock 'er up." </em>
</p><p>
  <em> That dorky asshole had nodded and nervously responded. "Yes, sir. I mean, no. Sir. I mean…" </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Ergh…" Terry had grumbled, waving them off, not really giving two shits what Ian was saying. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Mickey remembered that day in particular 'cos not only was it the first time Ian had been in their house, but it was the first time that Ian's goofy face, awkward politeness, and zero chill had caused him to harden beneath his jeans. And he was freaked the fuck out. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> After that, Mickey was convinced that he needed to stay away from Gallagher. Needed him to see what a scary dude Mickey was. Needed to make sure Gallagher in no way knew he was attracted to him. And he also avoided the younger boy like the plague. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Mickey had stopped going into the store when the ginger was working. When he came over to the house, Mickey would just leave. He had almost stopped going to school by that point anyway, showing up for the occasional drug deal, but Gallagher didn't run in those circles, so he was easy enough to avoid there too.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Fuck if he didn't think about him everyday though. Had even indulged himself a few times, thinking of Ian while masturbating, which would make Mickey almost physically ill after—mostly because he would fill up with so much fear and shame, and anxiety of what that all meant. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Then it happened. He had gone into the Kash 'n' Grab to take advantage of a Linda and Gallagher free moment, and Kash had pulled a gun on him. He had been shocked at first and then just angry that this fucking towelhead thought he could just pull a gun on him. Mickey had taken it from him easily. The man was a limp noodle, shaking and afraid.  </em>
</p><p><em> Mickey had gotten a few good wallops in too. Fuckhead deserved it, especially if what he thought he overheard about him was true. Days before, Mandy and Ian were noisily studying at the kitchen table. They were speaking in loud whispers, which Mickey had thought was ridiculous, when Mickey heard Mandy say to Ian, "How long have you been fucking Kash?"  </em> <b> <em>You can't be fucking serious?</em> </b> <em> was all Mickey could think. It was gross and fucked up, and it made Mickey's blood boil to think of that fuckhead asshole touching Ian. So he might have "put a little pepper on it" as one of his social workers used to say when she would talk about someone adding a little extra aggression to a beat down. She might have been his favorite and he wishes he could remember her name, but she was tough and realistic and didn’t seem shocked by violence, only exhausted by it. She said people put a little pepper on it when they were heated. When they wanted to get their point across. When they meant it. </em></p><p>
  <em> So, Mickey had put a little pepper on it when he gave Kash a beating and he was convinced he had it all worked to his advantage and that he had it all figured out. He'd avoided Gallagher and now the other boy would want to stay away from him because he was this scary dude that had stolen the gun of his pussy-ass boss—and possible perpetrator—and gave him a solid beating. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But he was wrong. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He never expected the redhead was tougher than he looked and he didn't look tough at all. But he was. Gallagher was tough. And he did the unexpected and came into Mickey's room with a tire iron to get the gun back and was ready to fight for it. And they did fight. They tore up Mickey's room fighting, but Mickey ultimately got the upper hand. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> As he looked down at Ian, who he had pinned down with his knees, straddling his chest, he suddenly felt his rage dissolve and give way to what he had been avoiding, pretending didn't exist. The green eyes of the boy beneath him were wide and frightened, but they softened and became curious and even excited as they looked up and saw Mickey growing firm in front of him. Mickey looked in those eyes and knew that was it. The tire iron clattered to the floor, and before he even realized it, they were tearing each other's clothes off.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Mickey hadn't had time to think. Hadn't really wanted to, if truth be told. He wasn't even sure he understood how it had happened, and that definitely included how he had been the one to end up on all fours, but he hadn't thought twice about it. Mickey had rebuffed the ginger's attempts at kissing his neck and his mouth, but then Gallagher had wrapped his forearm around Mickey's chest and put a hand on Mickey’s hip, and reared up, pulling Mickey against his chest gently, but securely. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Is this your first time?" Gallagher whispered in Mickey's ear, the other boy all of sudden looking and feeling so much bigger than he had before. Gallagher’s voice was low and laced with more care than lust, which surprised Mickey, and made it difficult to know how to respond. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Mickey couldn't breathe and didn't know what to say. He leaned into his embrace, gripping on to Gallagher’s forearm even though it felt fucking gay as hell, but he couldn't help himself; Ian was warm and solid against his back. He could feel the heat of his smooth skin and the surprising ripple of his abdomen, and it made him feel weak in the best possible way. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Yeah." Mickey managed to croak the word out, but he still couldn't breathe; the tingling excitement of what was happening and the sheer anticipation of what was to come had Mickey holding everything in, holding it all in his lungs. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Ian put his palm on Mickey's stomach and kept his other arm around his chest, holding Mickey to him tightly and firmly, gently digging his fingertips into the pale, soft flesh of Mickey’s stomach.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "I got you, Mickey. I'll take care of you." The words should have enraged him or freaked him out or made him feel like a pussy. But they didn't. They only made his stomach feel tickled from the inside and made him grow hard. Mickey melted against Gallagher, finally exhaling a long hot stream of air, and let Ian take charge. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> *** </em>
</p><p>
  <em> After it happened, Mickey tried again to avoid the goofy but surprisingly tough redhead, but he found that he would start to feel antsy, feel achy for Ian, so he gave in, going to the store when he knew it would just be Ian, so he could see him. Just him and no one else.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And it had happened again. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And then again. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And pretty soon it was happening anytime and anywhere it could, getting more intense with every encounter, as they explored and laughed and played together. As they became intoxicated with one another. Got lost in each other. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It went on like that for almost six months, growing in intensity. Mickey had felt like he was losing control, and he knew that at the very least he was starting to feel protective of Ian. He knew that Ian had stopped fucking that pervert Kash, but Mickey still wanted to kill him. Ian wouldn't hear anything about it and would roll his eyes when Mickey would talk about how Kash should be dead or in prison.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "He didn't take advantage of me. It was my idea." </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Fuck you, you were fourteen and he's your boss." Mickey had scowled, feeling sick to his stomach. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "No one forced me into anything. I knew what I was doing. Just like I know what I'm doing with you." Ian gave a sideways smile that Mickey wanted to hate, but didn't. He felt almost powerless to Ian and it scared the hell out of him. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But Mickey didn't know what they were doing. They weren't boyfriend and girlfriend. They weren't really even friends. They would argue about Kash or Mickey dealing coke at school. They'd drink beer and smoke weed and play video games. Mickey would pretend to be indifferent to Ian when he was with Mandy. And later Ian would punish him for it. They would search desperately for places to hangout and make small talk about shit Mickey didn't care about. They would do all that. And then they would fuck, which they did a lot. Mickey really felt like he couldn't get enough of Ian, but Ian also seemed hungry for Mickey and often as soon as they were alone, Ian would roughly start to possess him. Mickey loved it, but hated himself for it. It all drove him crazy, but he was lost with what to do about it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Mickey started feeling constantly worried something would happen to Ian, and he wanted to keep him safe, keep him close. He was feeling other things too. Stuff he wasn't ready to face. Stuff that was dangerous. And it all scared the living shit out of him. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Mickey had kept trying to remind himself of the cautionary tales of what happens to faggots around the Milkovich men. Reminding himself daily that he was no pansy. Reminding himself that even if he thought there was a slight chance he could be a homo, he couldn't act on it 'cos his father would kill him.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He just fucking needed to survive. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But sometimes… Sometimes it felt like he couldn't survive without Ian. That if he didn't see him he'd never breathe again. More than two days and it would feel like his chest was caving in. He felt like if Ian didn't touch him when he saw him—if he didn't touch Ian—he would fucking die. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> So, all he needed to hear to push him over the edge were the words that fell from Ian's lips when Mickey answered the door that day.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "I need to see you," Ian had spit out, breathing heavy and sweating from running in the best of winter coats that the Gallagher's could dredge up in his size. "I don't know where else to go." He sounded like he was going to cry, and something inside Mickey burst. Maybe the dam that had been precariously holding back how he felt about Ian. The dam constructed by fear and reinforced with the violent, bigoted hatred of his father. That dam? That dam was holding back so much desire and feeling that Mickey was overwhelmed by it and he grabbed Ian and pulled him inside the house. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Ian, what the fuck is going on?" Mickey said, trying to figure out what he needed to do to take this pain away that Ian was feeling and therefore he was feeling as well. He pulled Ian in and guided him back to his bedroom.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "I—I just…" Then the floodgates gave way and Ian started crying. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Hey, c'mere." Mickey hadn't even thought about it. Didn't think twice. He just pulled Ian into him, wrapping his arms around him underneath Ian's coat. Ian grabbed on for dear life as he cried and cried. Mickey was 100% sure Ian was dripping snot down his back, but he just didn't fucking care. All he cared about was taking away Ian's pain.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But he wasn't totally sure how to do that. He was more in the habit of inflicting it, not taking it away. Mickey pulled back, even though he didn't want to and pointed for Ian to sit down on his bed. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Here," Mickey said as he threw an old holey t-shirt to Ian. "For your…" Mickey motioned around his own eyes and nose, and Ian got the hint, using it to clean up his face. "Tell me what's goin' on, man." Mickey sat down next to Ian, sitting just far enough that their bodies didn't touch, but there was still intense heat. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Ian was having none of the distance and he pressed the right side of his body flush against Mickey's left side, but Mickey didn't back away like he sometimes did when he was overwhelmed by the feeling of intimacy between them. He stayed right next to him, giving comfort and giving in.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Mickey was giving in to something he couldn't describe and he felt his heart swell as he looked into Ian's eyes that were welling with tears. The feeling was intense and like nothing he had ever felt. He felt like he was getting high, but better somehow. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Tell me," Mickey whispered, entranced by Ian's pink, quivering lips. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "It's my fucking mom," Ian started while he shed several layers of outer wear. And for the life of him, Mickey had really tried to listen. He wanted to listen more than he had ever wanted to listen to anything ever. But it was really fucking hard because whether he liked it or not all he could think about was how beautiful Ian was. Mickey’s focus was all emerald eyes and freckles and floppy red hair and quivering lips. He was just so beautiful, and Mickey didn’t even care how gay that was. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> When it seemed like Ian was finished, Mickey snapped to and looked at Ian, so afraid to say the wrong thing. "I'm sorry, man. I'm sorry that's happening." Mickey leaned out so he could pat Ian's shoulder, which he knew was woefully inadequate and kinda awkward. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Ian looked at him, with doe eyes, looking a little afraid, but also looking resolute, and he slid his hand across Mickey's lower back, encircling his waist. Ian leaned in with ever so slightly parted lips and the most perfect amount of pressure, and kissed Mickey's neck. And for the first time Mickey let him. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Any amount of resolve that was left—any resistance or restraint—was shattered into a million pieces by the precious gesture. And Mickey knew this was it. He knew he was a fag and he knew he was in love—or what he thought love probably felt like. With Ian Fucking Gallagher. He was scared and excited and he wanted Ian so bad it hurt. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Ian," Mickey whispered as he turned his head and initiated another first in a long line of firsts that he had and would experience with Ian. His first real kiss.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> They had pressed soft lips together. It was almost chaste, but for a small amount of tongue that Ian wet Mickey's bottom lip with. It had sent shockwaves down Mickey's limbs and his fingers tingled and started to ache. Because he had to touch Ian. Had to. It was all gonna fall apart at any minute if he didn't. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> So he reached up and cupped Ian's face, pushing their mouths together a little harder, forcing them both to open their mouths a little more. And it was pure fucking heaven. </em>
</p><p><em> Mickey was alone in the house for the first time in months. His father had taken his brothers for a run out of town for the weekend, and Mandy was spending the weekend at their Aunt's house. Mickey was alone. </em> <b> <em>They </em> </b> <em> were alone. And he felt so… so… happy? Fucking happy? He thinks that's what it was.  </em></p><p>
  <em> Ian pulled back and looked at him. "Mickey?"  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Yeah?" Mickey said looking up into Ian's eyes, those sparkling eyes that he wanted to live in.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "I—I really—" Ian was stuttering and all confidence drained from him.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "What?" Mickey was worried. He was scared he had done something wrong. That it wasn't the right time to kiss him. That he had simply been bad at it. "What, Ian?" </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "I like you so fucking much." Ian's voice cracked.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "I—" Mickey wanted to say it back. Wanted to say so much more, but he couldn't get it out. "Stay here this weekend." Mickey offered instead. "No one is gonna be here. Just you and me." His voice got low and his eyes were hooded.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Instead of answering, Ian leaped at Mickey, pushing him onto the bed and pressing himself against him. They laid like that, staring at each other for what felt like hours, studying each other's faces with their eyes and fingertips, absorbing each other's beauty.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Mickey, I—" the words got stuck in Ian's throat again, and he looked like he was gonna tear up. "It's more," he choked out. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Mickey reached up and framed Ian's face, rubbing one of his thumbs along Ian's cheek bone, and smiled at him. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Mickey rose up to fill the space between them, and with his lips to Ian's lips he whispered: "Me too." </em>
</p><p>
  <em> *** </em>
</p><p><b> <em>So this is making love,</em> </b> <em> Mickey thought as he gave himself over to Ian again. Their weekend together had been full of firsts. He was consistently embarrassed at the very beginning of every single time they tried something new, but Ian was so patient and caring, and he did everything he could to make Mickey feel good, feel safe. Ian made Mickey feel like he shouldn't be ashamed. </em></p><p>
  <em> The day before, Mickey had, for the first time, let them have sex face to face. And it just about killed him. The raw energy that flowed between them as they joined one another, looking into each other's eyes, looking at each other's flushed faces, was intense and heady. Mickey thought he might explode as he looked into Ian's eyes while he entered Mickey. Ian's eyes were reassuring and full of desire and caring. And he did everything he could to make Mickey feel good, feel right, feel loved. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Loved. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> For his part, Mickey had tried to please Ian—tried to show him how he felt by trusting him and letting Ian lead him. He had given himself to the other boy, and he knew—could tell—that it was a gift to Ian. Because Ian wanted him. Cared about him. Loved him. And he had never felt anything in the world like that, ever. It was so startling and wondrous and simply gorgeous, and he wanted more than anything to belong to Ian and for Ian to belong to him. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> They had also spent the weekend playing house. They had watched movies and Mickey had learned about cuddling, which felt fucking weird at first, but then felt like the most exquisite thing in the world. They made meals together out of whatever they could find. Ian called it playing "chopped" and he was really good at it. Somehow he was able to whip meals together out of thin air. But sometimes they also just had pizza rolls, which Mickey had down to a science. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Mickey didn't want it to end. But it had to, so he was going to relish every last minute of it, and take advantage of being in a position where he could feel vulnerable and it was ok.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He was gonna take advantage of having a boy with him that knew what he wanted and was comfortable with himself enough to make Mickey comfortable with himself too. Because he knew that wouldn't last and soon he would be back to feeling like a piece of shit because he was called a piece of shit and treated like one too… by a lot of people, but mostly his father. And he would go back to hating himself and wishing he could be "normal" so he didn't have to feel empty and trapped and alone. Mickey would have to go back to all of that and would only get brief respite during stolen moments with the boy he now loved. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> *** </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Ian, lounging on the couch in his boxers and bare chested, compelled Mickey to lie on top of him, resting his head on Ian's chest so he could hear his heartbeat, feel it pounding against his cheek. It soothed him and he felt relaxed and dreamy. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Tell me again about the waterfall," Mickey said so quietly it was almost inaudible. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Ian carded his fingers through Mickey's hair and feathered his back and shoulders with touches from his other hand. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Why?" Ian smiled down into the top of Mickey's head. "You never believe me " </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "I've just never seen anything like that. It doesn't sound real." Mickey turned his head just enough to run his lips across one of Ian's nipple.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Hey," Ian responded, giggling. "Can't do that if you expect me to talk at all.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Whatever." Mickey sighed. "Tell me about it. Maybe I'll believe you this time." </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Ian scoffed, and squeezed Mickey to him.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "It just doesn't sound like a place any foster parent I ever had would bother to take some Southside street rat." </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "You calling me a street rat?" Ian laughed and it rumbled in Mickey's head and vibrated his chest. It felt fucking good to have Ian laughing under him. Chalk it up—one more gay as hell thing he loved that he had never given any consideration to.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "They aren't all bad," Ian said. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "None of them have been good," Mickey retorted. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Ian laughed a little and trailed the fingers on both hands across Mickey's back and down his arms and then back again, creating a symmetrical sensation that sent shivers down Mickey's spine and stiffened his nipples. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "It's amazing, Mickey. The whole place is. It's like nothing I've ever seen." </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Yeah?” Mickey’s voice sounded sleepy and he felt himself about to be hypnotized by Ian’s voice. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “It’s amazing, Mick. There are all these trees and canyons and a river. When you get there, you can walk up to the top of this huge mountain. That’s Starved Rock. And then you can go down into this one canyon—French Canyon—and it’s like these smooth layers—” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Like a cake?” Mickey smiled against Ian’s chest. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Sure. Like a cake.” Ian smiled into the top of Mickey's head and he smelled the dish soap that he had shampooed Mickey’s hair with when Ian had convinced Mickey they should take a shower together. Mickey said Mandy would kill him if he used her shampoo and he would rather use cheap dishsoap if Ian insisted they needed to be cleaned up. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “And at certain times of the year the rocks are covered in fuzzy green plants. Moss.” Mickey relaxed further into Ian, listening to his every word. “And at the beginning of spring, when the snow starts to melt, at the back of the canyons there are these waterfalls that flow down into these pools. It’s amazing.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “It doesn’t sound real.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “It doesn’t look real.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I want to see it someday,” Mickey said, barely above a whisper. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Yeah?” Ian holds him tighter. “I want to take you there someday.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “You’re never gonna be able to take me there,” Mickey said calmly. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “What?” Ian took Mickey’s chin between his fingers and forced him to look up at him. “Why would you say that?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I’m never going to be able to leave Chicago unless I’m going on a run with my pops or getting locked up. And we’re never gonna be able to be…” Mickey trailed off, not being able to finish his thought because it hurt too much. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> They were silent for a while, lying there, thinking and it started to feel like sadness was wrapping around them.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I’m gonna save money, and one day I’m gonna get us a car,” Ian said, finally breaking the silence. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Us?” Mickey rested his chin on Ian’s chest and looked up into his eyes. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Yeah. Us.” Ian ran his thumb across Mickey’s bottom lip. “And we’re gonna run away from here.” Ian, unable to resist, leaned down and kissed Mickey gently at first and then captured his bottom lip in his mouth. Mickey shifted up to meet Ian’s kiss and their kiss became hungrier. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Mickey broke away and placed his palms on Ian’s chest. “Ian,” Mickey whispered in a raspy voice, “where would we go?” Mickey asked. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Wherever you want.” Ian placed another kiss on Mickey’s pouty lips. “But when we run away, we’re going to the waterfall first. That’s the first place we’ll go. That’s where we’ll be free.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Mickey closed his eyes and laid his head down on Ian’s chest again, feeling as if in a dream state already. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Doesn’t sound real man.” Mickey whispered as he drifted off to sleep. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> *** </em>
</p><p><b> <em>So this is making love,</em> </b> <em> Mickey thought as he looked in Ian's eyes, wrapped around him, both of them holding tight. Holding on for dear life, knowing that it all would end soon. Then it's back to fucking in the walk-in at the store or the broken down VW bus behind Ian's house or under the school bleachers or in the dugout where they both had played little league. But neither of them just wanted a quick and dirty fuck anymore. They weren't just two kids playing around, experimenting and getting off. They were different. And together it felt like life was worth living, worth trying. </em></p><p>
  <em> So it was in that moment, while they lay facing each other, Mickey on his back, with his legs and soul locked around Ian, and Ian's hand gently gripping Mickey's hair and kissing his big swollen lips, Ian deep inside of him, that Terry Milkovich burst through the door, the sound of cracking plaster cutting through the air and their lovers’ haze. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The two boys couldn't disengage fast enough, and before they could even protest, Terry ripped Ian off Mickey and tossed him like a rag doll against the wall. Mickey saw Terry’s eyes were blazing and that he was fortified, in the middle of a coke bender, and he cracked Mickey's face with his nine millimeter, and busted his cheek bone. He saw Terry, like in slow motion, move towards Ian, but before Mickey could get to him, Terry slammed his pistol into the side of Ian’s temple, blood springing from the wound and Ian being knocked unconscious.  </em>
</p><p><em> “No!” Mickey shouted as he jumped on his father’s back, putting his arm around his throat, but Terry was strong </em> — <em> much stronger than Mickey back then </em> — <em> and with cocaine coursing through his veins he was almost unstoppable. </em></p><p>
  <em> “Get off me, you fucking faggot!” Terry reached back and tore Mickey off of him. He grabbed Mickey by the nape of his neck and shoved his face into the blood spatter from Ian’s head. “You know what that is? That’s your boyfriend's blood, you little bitch. I’m gonna fuckin’ kill both of you.” Terry dragged Mickey back to the other side of the room by his hair, tossing him back on Mickey’s bed. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Ian!” Mickey gasped, his eyes focused on the other side of the room, when he felt a sharp pain in his chest that took all his air away. It felt like his lungs were collapsing as Terry brought the heel of his boot down on Mickey’s chest. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “How long have you been his bitch?” Terry slammed his fist against Mickey’s temple, then his other fist against his jaw. “How long you been letting that Irish fuck stick his cock in you, you worthless piece of shit?” Mickey felt Terry’s hands wrap around his neck and start to choke him. Mickey gasped for air and punched his father's arms, trying all of the defensive tricks Terry himself had taught Mickey, but he couldn’t move and he couldn’t breathe. He was sure that Terry had killed him and everything went black. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> *** </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Mickey could only open one eye, and it was crusted with blood. When he finally had it open, everything was fuzzy, but he could see lying naked on the floor across from him was Ian, tied up and unconscious. Ian was no longer bleeding, but his eye and cheek was swollen and dried blood was framing his face. They were alone in the room and Mickey was trying to find his voice. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Ian,” he rasped. “Ian, wake up.” Mickey sounded like he was begging, and he started to feel the sting of tears in his eyes. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “You tryin’ to wake up your boyfriend, faggot?” Terry was standing there in the doorway, snarling and looking disgusted, his Uncle Ronnie and one of his cousins standing behind him, blank faced. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Ian,” Mickey choked out. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Wake him up,” Terry ordered Mickey’s cousin, gesturing towards Ian.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> His cousin headed over to Ian and threw a bowl of ice water on him. The other boy gasped as he was revived, writhing and struggling to breathe at first. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Mickey tried to move, but he couldn't, suddenly realizing that he, too, was tied up. He could see Ian struggling and coughing, having inhaled water. They finally made eye contact and Mickey could see the horror rising in Ian’s eyes. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Mickey!” Ian strangled out a cry that was swiftly met with a kick in the teeth. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “No!” Mickey began to struggle against his restraints harder. “Let him go, you fucking piece of shit.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Terry looked over at Mickey and growled, then looked over to his brother, Ronnie. “Sit him up. I want to make sure he gets a good view.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Ronnie followed orders and picked up Mickey’s naked body, sitting him up on his bed with his hands tied behind his back and his feet bound together.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Stop!” Mickey shouted. “What are you doing?! Leave him alone!” Mickey tried to struggle free, tried to struggle to get up, but then he felt the cold steel of a pistol shoved against his temple. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Don’t fuckin’ move,” Ronnie said in his gravely voice. Then he whispered closer to Mickey’s ear. “Please, I don’t wanna hurt you. Just stay still and it’ll be over soon.” His uncle's words disturbed Mickey, getting sick to his stomach and truly feeling the lack of control over the situation. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Get the fuck away from him!” Mickey heard Ian yell and looked up just in time to see his father’s brass knuckle-clad fist make contact with Ian’s face, blood flying across the room and landing on the wall. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “No!” Mickey cried. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Shut your fucking mouth, boy, before I shut you up. You’re only gonna make this harder on yourself.” Terry was giving Mickey a sickening smile and turned his body towards the door. “Iggy!” He yelled out the door. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Iggy appeared, standing with his hands behind his back and his head down. “What, Pop?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Get over here and tie this ginger fuck to this chair.” Terry tells him. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Pop—” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “You got a problem with that, huh?” Terry growled at Iggy and got in his face. “You a fuckin’ fag too, Ig? Huh?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “No, sir.” Iggy continued to look down and shook his head. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Then get over there and do as you’re told,” Terry told him, and Iggy obliged. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Iggy walked over and with his cousin’s help they picked up Ian and sat him in the chair in Mickey’s room right across from Mickey. Ian’s face was cut and bleeding again and he looked at Mickey helplessly as Iggy and their cousin tied him to the chair. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Terry threw his nephew the brass knuckles and then handed Iggy a pool cue. “Get to work,” he snarled at them and then he looked over at Ronnie. “Make sure he keeps his eyes open.” Terry pointed at Mickey, but then took a step closer to him and spit right in Mickey’s face. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Terry turned back toward Iggy. “I said get to work!” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And they did. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Sounds of crushing bones and choking on blood assaulted Mickey’s ears. Moans, cries, gasping pain. It all filled the air and Mickey could hear someone screaming and crying. Could hear himself screaming and crying as he watched his brother and cousin beat and maim the boy he loved until Ian’s body went slack and he passed out. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Iggy turned around and looked at his brother, his face the picture of shame. Their eyes met and Iggy looked at him, his eyes seeming to plead for forgiveness. Mickey knew he didn’t want to do what he was doing, but at that moment he couldn’t forgive him. He couldn’t even look at Iggy. Iggy looked down and turned to their father, eyes still on the ground. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Go on. Get out of here.” Terry patted Iggy on the back and shoved him out the door. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Terry walked over to Mickey and looked down at him menacingly. “I’ll be back.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Then Terry nodded to Ronnie, who looked down at Mickey with apologetic eyes. Ronnie drew back the gun that then collided against Mickey’s temple and everything went black again. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> *** </em>
</p><p>Mickey is sitting on the damp, cold ground, the canyon floor proving to be hard and still retaining winter's chill. He isn't sure what he is doing here, but he isn't sure where else to go. He feels stuck.</p><p>He had left Chicago in an unstable state, left in a hurry, left in a stolen car. His friend's car. That he stole so he could escape. So he could run away.</p><p>The past had come crashing in on him. It felt like an avalanche and he was buried. Mickey had clawed his way out, but had convinced himself this was the only way. That everyone just needed to see he was a piece of shit and they were all better off without him—safer without him.  He was never going to be anything but a fuck up and a criminal anyway. He was never going to have anything he wanted. He was never going to be able to get out from under the person Terry Milkovich had created. Ian was right; he was ruined. Forever.</p><p>There had been no real plans, and he didn't actually remember taking the Chevelle, but he had. He had taken her from the garage and flew out of Chicago only stopping to take money out of the bank and fill up the tank.</p><p>Somewhere on Interstate 80, Mickey had woken up. Maybe it was the shock of cold air hitting his face mixed with the rumble of the engine as it hit eighty miles per hour on the freeway, the cold slashing at his face with more ferocity as the velocity picked up.</p><p>Mickey didn't know what to do. Didn't know where to go. He had to have been driving for over an hour when he saw the freeway signs for Starved Rock Park. He needed something real. He needed for something that Ian had said to be real. And since he was running away. That's the place he would run to.</p><p>Mickey had pulled into the Visitor's Center parking lot. It was clear it was too late to be there and he knew he wasn't supposed to be. But he didn't feel like there was a choice. He looked down and saw his phone. It was almost five AM and there on his screen was the little envelope that told him he had a text, and the little ribbon that showed someone had left a message.</p><p>There were in fact lots of texts and lots of messages, and he was filled with fear and dread. What had he done?</p><p>Mickey opened the phone and saw messages from Ian and Rita-Mae. He banged his head against the seat and felt a deep moan come out of him, out of his chest. He sounded like a wounded animal, and felt like one too. He had been wounded by Terry, but he had also wounded himself.</p><p>He tapped on Ian's name and opened up the texts.</p><p><b>Ian:</b> (1:08 a.m.) Mickey, I just got home, but I'm really worried about you. Please text me and tell me you're ok.</p><p><b>Ian:</b> (2:01 a.m.) I know you probably don't want to talk to me, but if you don't let me know you're ok, I'm coming back over there.</p><p><b>Ian:</b> (2:23 a.m.) Mickey, I mean it. I'm gonna call you.</p><p><b>Ian:</b> (2:30 a.m.) Fuck, Mickey. Just tell me you're ok.</p><p>But he hadn't been ok. And it must have been around that time that Mickey had pulled himself up off the floor and ran away.</p><p><b>Ian:</b> (3:11 a.m.) Where the fuck are you!!!!!</p><p><b>Ian:</b> (3:11 a.m.) YOU TOOK THE CHEVELLE?!?! MICKEY WHAT THE FUCK?!?!!!!!</p><p><b>Ian:</b> (3:11 a.m.) Mickey, please tell me where you are. Please don't do this.</p><p><b>Ian:</b> (3:26 a.m.) I'm calling Rita-Mae. I don't know what else to do.</p><p>Fuck. Of course he had called Rita-Mae. Mickey wasn't angry. He believed he had left Ian no choice, but that probably meant that Audre knew too. There were no texts from her, but that didn't mean she didn't know. His heart sunk. He couldn't even turn around and put the car back in the garage unnoticed. Mickey felt trapped and he knew he had trapped himself.</p><p><b>Ian:</b> (3:45 a.m.) We're coming to find you. No one is mad. Just tell me where you are. </p><p><b>Ian:</b> (3:45 a.m.) Please.</p><p>It just kept going. There were at least half a dozen more texts from Ian begging him to stop, to text, to call, to turn around and come home.</p><p>He switched over to Rita-Mae and swallowed around the lump in his throat.</p><p><b>Rita-Mae:</b> (3:40 a.m.) Mickey, you need to call me or Ian. You need to tell us where you are.</p><p><b>Rita-Mae:</b> (3:41 a.m.) There is still time to turn around and come back, Mickey. Don't do this. Don't fuck all this up.</p><p>Hadn't he already though? Hadn't he already fucked everything up? Mickey believed he had. He didn't for a second believe he could be redeemed.</p><p>Mickey looked at the horizon. The sky was turning that color. That shade of blue that Mickey loved that tells of the coming dawn. His favorite time of day. It was called twilight and Mickey felt indignant for a second, feeling like those fruity vampire movies had ruined that word. Because it really was perfect for that time of the morning. Twilight. The sky glowed with potential, and it filled him up.</p><p>Mickey got out of the Chevelle to smoke in the brilliance of the darkness that would soon crack wide open and bring the sun. But not yet. That's what twilight was—the promise of the sun as you lie in the safety of the moon, and Mickey wished he could freeze time and stay right there in the twilight, trapped between night and day. It felt safe, and he desperately needed safety.</p><p>Mickey leaned up against the car to smoke. He knew she would make her way back to Audre where she belonged and he wasn't about to smoke in her. </p><p>He wasn't sure what to do with himself and his body tugged at him to move. </p><p>Keep moving. Keep running.</p><p>Mickey bundled up in his coat he had luckily thought to bring and he headed up the trail to the top of Starved Rock. Just like Ian had told him they would do many years before.</p><p>He had walked to the top, rising with the sun, feeling subtle warmth from the beams of light, then took the trail down into French Canyon. And Ian had been right. It was real. All of it. The layered rock, some smooth, some rough, the lines and colors, the gentle green of the plants that moved across and down into some parts of the canyon… </p><p>And the waterfall. It was real too. Just like Ian had said. It was all real. </p><p>Mickey sat down as close to the water as he could without getting wet and rested his head on his knees. He felt young and frail and so fucking stupid. He watched the water cascade down into the canyon and mist his face. It was freezing and he knew he should move away, but he didn't care and welcomed the sting of cold, feeling like he was willing to accept the discomfort. An act of contrition. Mickey pulled his legs in tight and shivered, enduring his punishment that he believed would never be enough as he thought back on the series of events that led him to this place</p><p>Mickey felt tears start to creep in as he remembered the avalanche, the tidal wave, the flood. </p><p><em> Ian</em>. He felt like his chest would cave in remembering—finally remembering—all of what had passed. Mickey had loved him with all his heart and Ian had loved him back. Their bodies had been made for each other and they fit together perfectly. Until his father had torn Ian away and shredded everything they had. He saw the blood and heard the cries and moans from the violence and they mixed with those of their ecstasy when they had been together. When they had made love. It was all intertwined and it broke Mickey's heart all over again and stopped his breathing. Terry had taken that from him. He had taken away his ability to differentiate the feelings that Ian evoked—passion, bliss, lust, warmth, love—and had twisted them up with his unbridled brutality.</p><p>Terry had kept them bound in Mickey's room. He couldn’t recall how long because he had been unconscious so much of the time. It felt like days, but he knew it had probably only been about twenty-four hours.</p><p><em> Only </em> twenty-four hours of pure torture.</p><p>Because Terry had tortured them—well, really had others do it for him. Because that's what he did; Terry got others to do the real dirty work, and he would watch with sadistic pleasure. It turned Mickey's stomach thinking about it and he understood why his body and mind had been trying to protect him from all that. It was too much.</p><p>They had taken turns beating and tormenting them. Terry made sure that they were awake to watch the other be punched, kicked, burned, and cut until they were both knocked out. Then it would start all over again, only he would reverse their roles. He berated and humiliated them, cutting Mickey open with words that were almost as violent as the physical abuse—maybe more so. Because that was the stuff that stuck. Those were the words he heard in his head when he thought about Ian. They crept in uninvited and destroyed anything that was good. </p><p>It felt like it had gone on forever and Mickey had started to go numb, even with a broken arm and ribs and cheek bone, he just stopped being able to feel his body. He had begun to detach when he opened his eyes and saw Ian being rolled up in a rug and carried out the door like garbage. But Mickey couldn't protest. Couldn't say anything. He was broken and shut down because he was convinced the only boy he would ever love was dead.</p><p>***</p><p>Mickey doesn't hear the footsteps at first; the waterfall is roaring and the birds have started to come to life around him in the morning sun.</p><p>Ian sits down on the rock next to him without a word. Mickey can hear his breathing, and he is panting. <em> He ran to find me. Ian is beside me and he ran to find me. </em></p><p>They sit quietly at first, which is oddly comfortable. But Mickey can't look at Ian and it makes him so sad.</p><p>“You know, I thought you were dead.” Mickey looks down and throws a rock into the water, not meeting Ian’s gaze, but he can see out of the corner of his eye that he is starting to tear up. “I was sure that sadistic prick fuckin’ killed you. Had my brother kill you." Ian gasps, but it can't be because of what he said. Mickey thinks it's because he said it at all. Acknowledged it.  </p><p>"I didn’t have anyone I could ask. Mandy wasn’t allowed in my room.” Mickey moans and lets out a wet breath. “Ughhh… I didn’t know until I saw you with Mandy almost two month later. You have no idea how I felt seeing you.” He looks up at Ian then and they lock eyes. “You looked like shit, I could tell you were still hurt. Your arm was in a sling. Your face was cut and had yellow bruises. But you were alive.” </p><p>Mickey's breath hitches and one cruel tear makes its way down before he grinds his palms into his eyes. </p><p>“I couldn’t even be happy for more than a split second because the next thing I thought was what if my father saw you with Mandy? He would kill you. I was so fucking terrified. I couldn’t figure out why you were being so <em> stupid </em>. Like you didn’t even care. Like none of that mattered because you were still with my sister. Then I was just fucking angry. I’ve just been so angry, Ian.” Mickey finally chokes out a wet sob, and the tears start to flow.</p><p>"I'm sorry, Mickey," Ian says and he is quiet, but his words are still warm and for a split second Mickey feels comforted. </p><p>"After they took you away, they came back and he almost beat me to death." Mickey says in a cold voice, trying to disconnect from it.</p><p>"Mickey," Ian whispers.</p><p>"It didn't matter. I wanted him to kill me; I thought you were dead."</p><p>Ian gasps again and Mickey assumes it's because Mickey just confessed to wishing he would die because he thought he had lost Ian. </p><p>"I couldn’t leave my room for over a month. My dad wouldn’t let anyone come in except Iggy, who would bring me some food and water. And Terry let that alcoholic freak from up the block that used to be a doctor come set my broken bones, but only ‘cos I was no use to him crippled. He had big plans for me." There is bitterness in his voice and he tastes bile in his throat.</p><p>"Mandy told me your dad had you locked down and that I had to stay away. I didn't know what to do," Ian confesses.</p><p>"There's nothing you could have done. You would have gotten killed. I thought you had."</p><p>"I'm sorry, Mickey. I'm so, so sorry." </p><p>Mickey looks at Ian and sees the redness around his eyes, and puffiness of his face. He's been crying. Like, crying well before he came down here. And he's crying again.</p><p>"None of this is your fault, Gallagher." Mickey shakes his head and wishes he could reach out and touch him, but he is afraid of the results of that touch. So he does nothing.</p><p>***</p><p>There is a long silence between them, and it feels immense, but Mickey is stuck, is frozen, and he isn't sure there is anything he can do but sit on that rock in the freezing cold. </p><p>Ian takes a deep breath and it draws Mickey's attention. “You gotta come back, Mickey.”</p><p>“I—” Mickey tries to speak but it gets caught in his throat. </p><p>“You can’t do this. You can’t fuck up like this,” Ian tells him. </p><p>“What do you care?” </p><p>“What do I care? You act like I abandoned you. That’s not how this happened and you know it.” </p><p>Mickey breaths out his nose. “Who brought you?” </p><p>“Rita-Mae. She took the car back. I have hers.” </p><p>“Call the cops?” </p><p>“No. that’s why we’re here, so you don’t get in trouble.” </p><p>“How did you know I would be here? I didn’t even know I’d be here.” </p><p>“Something you said before I left. That nothing I ever said was real. We talked about running away here. You never believed me it was real." Ian looks at Mickey, his eyes kind and sad. "I also counted on you realizing what you had done. And stopping. I kinda figured you'd be stuck. I just hoped it would be here."</p><p>Mickey lets out a ragged breath. Because Ian is right. Because Ian came to find him. Because maybe Ian really does know Mickey. Maybe better than Mickey knows himself.</p><p>Ian tries to reach out to touch Mickey's shoulder and he flinches away. “Don’t touch me, Ian. Please.” </p><p>“Okay. I'm sorry." Ian gives a sad grin. "But, Mickey, we gotta go. We need to go back.”</p><p>Mickey nods his head and they get up from the ground and make their way out of the canyon in silence.</p><p>***</p><p>The drive back to Chicago is quiet. There isn't tension, only sorrow.</p><p>Mickey finally lets out a stuttered breath and turns to look at Ian. “I want to be able to let you touch me.” </p><p>“Mickey. . .” Ian says his name with almost a sigh.</p><p>“But I can't now. I can’t do this now. Maybe one day, but not now. Okay?" Tears trail down his face silently. </p><p>“Okay,” Ian says, nodding his head. "I'm sorry." </p><p>“Me too,” Mickey whispers and turns back to the window.</p><h3>***</h3><p>The alley behind the shop looks longer and desolate as they drive into it. Mickey feels like a runaway puppy that is being returned home with his tail between his legs. They remained quiet during the whole car ride and Mickey feels Ian wanting to say something to him, wanting to touch him, wanting to make everything alright. But nothing is alright and it isn’t going to be. Mickey feels broken and he just doesn't see how anything is going to be okay. If by some miracle neither Willie nor Larry find out, he would still have the guilt and shame of what he had done. He would still have lost his first and best friend he ever had. He would still be constantly under suspicion. And he would still feel like a defective piece of shit constantly ruined by the past—constantly ruined by his father.</p><p>Mickey is lost.</p><p>They stop and Ian parks the car and turns it off. He takes off his seatbelt and turns, looking at Mickey, who is refusing to turn his head and meet his gaze.</p><p>“I don’t think you should be alone,” Ian says.</p><p>Mickey says nothing and continues to stare forward, unmoved.</p><p>“I’m coming up with you,” Ian announces.</p><p>Mickey finally turns and looks at him. He wants to protest, but he feels so defeated he doesn’t see the point of fighting. Mickey gets out of the car and starts heading into the shop, Ian following close behind.</p><p>Once inside, Mickey goes to the bathroom and closes the door behind him. He sits on the toilet with his face in his hands. He wants to cry, but he has no energy to do it, so he sits there unable to lift his head. <em> What am I going to do? Why is he here? I’m so fucked. </em></p><p>He gets up and washes his face, avoiding his reflection in the mirror, and joins Ian in his room. Ian is standing there waiting for Mickey, features soft and calm.</p><p>“What do you want, man?” Mickey finally asks.</p><p>“I don’t want anything. I don’t think you should be alone and Rita-Mae agrees.”</p><p>“I’m so glad you two are such great fucking buddies now.”</p><p>“Mickey, it isn’t like that and you know it. I texted her and told her that I wanted to stick around for a while and make sure you were okay, and she told me she thought it was a good idea and to keep the car until Monday morning.”</p><p>“I don’t need you two watching over me. I’m fine.”</p><p>“No, you’re not,” Ian says immediately before Mickey can get another word in. “I don’t need to point out all the ways you aren’t okay because you fucking know what they are. I’m not trying to rub your nose in anything or make you feel worse than you already do, but if I have to spell it out for you I will. You are <em> not </em> okay, and you do in fact <em> need </em>someone to watch over you, Mickey.” Ian’s voice is raised and stern.</p><p>Mickey is silent. He can’t talk and he knows Ian is right. If left alone with his thoughts what else might he do? If he starts to spiral again would he do something even more reckless and stupid next time? Does he ditch everything and run back to the safety and familiarity of the most unsafe place he’s ever been—the Milkovich house? Does he succeed in ruining everything the next time? Does he go back to prison? And he thinks about what really saved him from complete ruin this time. It was Rita-Mae and the stubborn, persistent redhead standing in front of him giving him the chin and obviously not going anywhere. <em> Fuck.  </em></p><p>“Fine. Whatever.” Mickey strips off his flannel down to his white tanktop and gestures to a built in shelf full of folded laundry, books and art supplies. “I’m going to bed. There's a couple extra blankets and shit over there if you want to do the same. Pull up a piece of carpet. Knock yourself out, Red.” Mickey takes off his jeans and doesn’t bother putting anything else on. He climbs into bed and rolls over so his back is to Ian.</p><p>Mickey can hear Ian rustling around and making a pallet on the floor, and then he hears him taking off his clothes. Despite himself and all that has happened, Mickey has an undeniable urge to turn around and look at Ian—to look at him peeling layers away and revealing what lies in Mickey’s imagination. And then he feels nothing but shame.</p><p>“Goodnight, Mickey,” Ian whispers as he settles down on the floor. He is silent after that and Mickey is grateful. </p><p>Mickey is lost in his thoughts again, and he is thinking about Ian Gallagher, lying on the floor next to his bed, breathing evenly and most likely drifting off to sleep. He has to be exhausted. It has been a long, fucked up twelve or so hours and Mickey knows Ian has spent most of it searching for him and probably praying to the patron saint of runaway queers that Mickey was still alive and hadn’t already done something to get himself arrested or worse. He starts to feel a pressure on his chest and a lump forms in his throat. Ian has just been through a lot because of him, and all he has done is yell at him, ignore him, and dismiss him. And he feels fucking shitty about it.</p><p>Mickey rolls over and sees that Ian’s eyes are closed, but his chest isn’t rising and falling to the rhythm of sleep just yet. He looks at Ian. Sees him curled up on the floor ready to protect Mickey from himself. Ready to take care of him. Ready to kick his ass if he needs to. And Mickey wonders why things can’t be easier between them. Why they never could and why they can’t be now. </p><p>“Goodnight, Ian,” Mickey whispers.</p><p>Ian’s eyes flutter open and the side of his mouth quirks up into a lazy freckle-faced smile. He says nothing, just looks at Mickey for a few seconds then closes his eyes and goes to sleep.</p><p>So Mickey goes to sleep too.</p><h3>***</h3><p>He’s covered in blood. The boy. The boy he loves. Being hauled away, rolled up like a piece of trash. Mickey feels his father crushing his ribs, crushing his nose, crushing his heart. Flashes of sanguinated memories shift in and out of focus, spliced with anguish and injury. And Mickey hears someone screaming. It's so loud. It’s so overwhelming and close and sounds like it’s in his head. Then he opens his eyes and feels the scream leaving his own body as he thrashes and hears what he is screaming. “Ian! Ian!” He sees past his screams and sees Ian right in front of him.</p><p>“Mickey. I’m right here.” Ian’s voice is soothing and he gently touches Mickey’s shoulder. For some reason Mickey doesn’t feel the need to push him off. Instead, Mickey leans into the touch, rolling over so Ian’s hand becomes trapped under Mickey, Mickey’s face in the crook of Ian’s arm and he starts to cry. He grabs on to Ian’s forearm and bicep and presses his face into Ian, tightening his grip.</p><p>“I was so scared.” Mickey chokes on his words as they mix with a deep buried sob, a piece of grief pushing its way out. “I thought you were dead.”</p><p>“Hey.” Ian moves forward, allowing Mickey to hold him closer and giving Ian the ability to place his hand on Mickey’s back. He doesn’t move it at first, and Mickey feels the weight of it and it radiates warmth throughout Mickey’s body. It feels good and Mickey pleads inside his head for Ian to never take it away.</p><p>“Mickey, I’m here. I’m okay.” Ian starts to move his palm in circles across his back and Mickey lets out an open mouthed breath that is long and windy. That breath carries on it what feels like deep seeded pain, traveling out of his body with every circle of Ian’s big heavy hand. Pain that had somehow been attached to his spine and shoulders and lower back. All of it being opened up and pushed out of his body with every breath, every sigh, every tear. And Mickey feels his body sagging—his pelvis dropping and belly pushing into the bed. He feels his chest loosening, no longer needing to clamp tightly to support his cries of fear and loss. Mickey loosens his grip on Ian’s arm and feels his whole body go slack, and he suspects Ian does too.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Mickey says barely above a whisper.</p><p>“I don’t know why you‘re apologizing, but you don’t have to,” Ian tells him. “I don’t want you to ever apologize, Mickey. I just want you to be okay.”</p><p>Mickey rolls over and finally looks at Ian whose eyes are red and on the verge of tears. He sits up and has the urge to apologize again when he realizes how he has trapped Ian and has managed to get tears and other byproducts of intense crying all over the redhead’s arm. He is embarrassed and doesn’t want to keep looking at Ian, but he also doesn’t want to stop.</p><p>Ian gets up and Mickey wants to cry out for him to stop and come back, but he doesn’t and Ian returns from the bathroom with a clean arm and a warm washcloth. Ian gets on his knees in front of him and gently rubs the warm, wet cloth across Mickey’s forehead and then ever so carefully across and under his eyes. Ian folds it over and wipes the tears and sweat and snot off of Mickey’s cheeks and nose, then he folds it one more time and runs it softly across Mickey’s lips that are red and puffy.</p><p>There is no protest from Mickey and it never crosses his mind to stop Ian from this intimate and caring gesture. Mickey doesn’t feel like his arms are capable of movement anyway, so he can’t do it himself or swat Ian away. Mickey’s eyes flutter closed at Ian’s touch and he feels little puffs of air slowly flowing out from between his lips as Ian makes his way down his face. He opens his eyes as Ian swipes the cloth across Mickey’s lips and he sees the redhead staring at them. He knows that Ian wants them. Wants to touch them. Possess them. Be part of them. And Mickey wants it too, but he knows, and he’s sure Ian does as well, that the end result would most likely be disastrous. What he wants and what his body feels like it can handle are not aligning. His brain and his body are just not on the same page. He believes Ian senses all of this, so instead of covering Mickey's mouth with his own, Ian gives a warm smile and gets up from the floor.</p><p>Mickey has sweat through his tank top and boxers and he realizes the bed is in pretty bad shape too. Ian is in front of him again with a glass of water and Mickey takes it, but looks up at him like a lost little kid, feeling worn and kind of embarrassed.</p><p>“Drink the water and then go clean up. I’ll change your sheets,” Ian tells him, only looking kind, only admiring, with no disdain or pity. There isn’t even concern left on his face, only an expression that is inviting Mickey to take care of himself and be taken care of.</p><p>Mickey nods and follows Ian’s direction, which should probably feel weird, but it doesn’t. The nightmare and subsequent breakdown have left him pliant and taken away his fight. His fight that defends him, but also ruins him. That will to fight has no place here right now and he has to give in to that voice in the back of his head that is telling him that he needs this right now, that it is okay. Because it is. It’s okay for Ian to be there and take care of him and guide Mickey because Mickey cannot do it himself at this moment in time.</p><p>He cleans up and comes out to a clean bed, but he realizes that basically decimates the pallet on the floor where Ian was sleeping. Mickey looks up at Ian and he wants to say something, but he isn’t sure what. </p><p>“It’s okay. All I need is a pillow. It isn’t cold in here.” Ian is trying to reassure Mickey and it is sincere, but Mickey still raises an eyebrow at him. “Believe me, it is not even in the top twenty of the worst places I’ve slept, Mickey. I’m fine,” Ian tells him.</p><p>Mickey winces a little at the idea of Ian sleeping in some of the places in Mickey’s imagination. Places he is sure that Ian has been. Things he is sure Ian has seen and been through. But then again, he isn’t supposed to really know all that, so he tries to mask the sting that it just caused him and gives the best smile he can muster and nods his head.</p><p>They both lay down, facing each other, Ian continuing to look at Mickey with kind eyes and a warm expression. </p><p>“Thank you,” Mickey says.</p><p>“You’re welcome, Mickey,” Ian replies and he folds his pillow in half and tucks it under his head of bright orange hair. And Mickey thinks that Ian might be the brightest thing in his room, and that maybe he needs to think about adding more color to his life in more than one way.</p><p>The two men continue to look at each other, studying the other person's face. Mickey starts to feel a pull in his chest and he realizes he doesn’t want Ian to sleep on the floor because he doesn’t think that the person who did indeed save him from himself earlier that day and had taken care of him when he was vulnerable and weak, should have to sleep on a hard unforgiving floor that even though he says it isn’t cold, Mickey knows it's fucking freezing. Mickey doesn’t want Ian on the floor because of that, but also because he wants him closer to him, with his hand making circles on his back and his sweet spicy scent winding its way into his nose. And he doesn’t want Ian to sleep on the floor because he still feels like his mind could fly out of his body and he’s afraid. He doesn’t want Ian to sleep on the floor because he wants him to sleep in the bed with him, protecting him and keeping him warm and safe. But he doesn’t know how to say that to Ian, and he isn’t sure if it's right anyway, so he doesn’t. He feels a little pang of loss at that moment and a shiver goes up his spine. He sees that Ian recognizes it and feels like he can see right through Mickey.</p><p>“What do you need, Mickey?” Ian asks quietly, cautiously. “Tell me what you need.”</p><p>Mickey feels like that question might undo him and he isn’t sure how to tell Ian what he needs because he isn’t sure what it is. He guesses if it is boiled down to bare bones what he needs is for Ian to not sleep on the floor. That seems simple enough even though he knows it is so much more complicated. And if Ian did get up off the floor and lay down next to him in his bed, he knows that he runs the risk of it triggering something he just doesn't have the bandwidth to handle. Yet, he thinks he should risk it because if Ian stays one more minute on the floor he might explode.</p><p>But Ian doesn’t wait for Mickey to find his words or decide on the best way to tell Ian what he wants and needs. Instead, Ian stands up on his knees and places his palm on Mickey’s cheek, rubbing his thumb across his cheek bone like he’s wiping away a tear—one of the many tears that Mickey has shed that night. Mickey nuzzles into Ian’s palm and his eyes lock on Ian’s, who then tilts his head and meets Mickey’s gaze.</p><p>“Let’s try this again,” Ian says and Mickey nods. He knows it isn't the same as the night before when Ian had aggressively held him and Mickey had broken down, fallen apart, come undone, but maybe that was the point. Maybe Ian wants to try again more gently, more quietly, to give Mickey comfort and solace because they both know he needs it. And Ian probably needs it too.</p><p>They don’t talk about the logistics and positioning on the bed. Mickey just scoots to the edge of the bed and looks up at Ian, who peels back the covers and crawls over Mickey with his long spider like legs. Ian lies behind him and Mickey pulls the covers up over them.</p><p>“I’m scared,” Mickey admits and he hears his voice that is tiny and shaky.</p><p>“I’m right here. If anything happens I got you. I’ll take care of you.” Those words echo in his head. Like the first time they'd been together—that their bodies had tangled around one another—when they were just stupid kids. Just babies. Ian had told him he would take care of him and he did. And he still wants to. And Mickey wants to take care of him too. </p><p>He prays to the gods and demi-gods of traumatized long lost lovers that one day his body stops betraying him and convincing his mind he is in danger, stops being afraid of something that happened so long ago and will never happen again, stops reacting in fear to someone that had control for far too long and doesn’t deserve to hold tight to Mickey from the grave. He prays for all this and that they really do get to take care of one another in peace and love all that shit one day.</p><p>Mickey inches back a little closer to Ian, who cautiously starts to rub circles again into Mickey’s back. The swirling motion relaxes him and he feels himself drifting on a warm wave that is safe and soothing and smells like sour sweat and faded traces of aftershave. And Mickey believes in that moment that the gods, with lowercase “Gs” as well as those who are capitalized, are listening.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello Everyone-</p><p>I know that was rough. It was a very emotional chapter to write. </p><p>I would expect Chapter 9 won't be up for two more weeks.</p><p>Thanks to everyone for all of your support.</p><p>Love,</p><p>Chat Noir<br/>💖💖💖</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you all for waiting so patiently for this chapter. I hope you enjoy. 🙂</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It's late Monday morning and Mickey is sitting uncomfortably in the waiting room of Maria's office. He had spent most of the weekend sleeping and eating and trying to get rid of Ian. Well, not really, but if he didn't seem at least a little annoyed it wouldn’t be very Mickey. He knows he's lying to himself and smiles a little despite his discomfort with his current surroundings, and what he knows he has to unload on his therapist. He also knows the weekend had been more than that, so much so that he wishes he could go back to that point in time after he fell asleep for the second time, but before the sun rose on Monday morning. Because the present is fucking killing him.</p>
<p>After his nightmare Saturday morning, they had slept soundly on Mickey's bed until the middle of the afternoon. Ian left at one point to take Rita-Mae’s car back and go home for a little bit. Ian announced he'd be back later with food, but threatened to come back sooner if Mickey didn't answer text messages.</p>
<p>"Yeah, yeah, whatever, Gallagher." Mickey waved him off, but he caught that crooked grin and knew that Ian wasn't buying it. </p>
<p><em> You better come back. </em> </p>
<p>Mickey really didn't want Ian to leave at all. He felt weird and desperate, like if Ian walked out the door he would be gone forever. But he wasn't about to let that show. Fuck no. He didn't need to complicate things more than they already were with more messy feelings. Those would come. He wouldn't be able to stop that, but he could slow it down.</p>
<p>Ian had texted constantly while he was gone, which would have annoyed Mickey if it hadn't given him immense comfort and been a much needed distraction. He couldn't let his brain drift to the worst case scenario that continually wanted to work its way in and sit on the forefront of his brain. </p>
<p>Worst case scenario probably should have been prison, and he thought about how he could easily be thrown back in for violating parole with his actions the night before. But his mind actually went somewhere else because his nightmare scenario was about never being able to work on the Chevelle ever again and, more importantly, completely losing his friend. That seemed like the worst thing that could and probably would happen at that point. Maybe he'd lose his job, but he somehow didn't feel like that would happen. No, the fear and dread and pain was all about losing any rights he had to work on the Chevelle and having Audre hate him forever. He was disgusted with himself.</p>
<p>However, it seemed like right when his self-loathing would start to roll around, he would hear the ping of his phone alerting him to a text message and he would be brought back to the present—brought back to the persistent texting of an annoying ginger, who he begrudgingly admitted might have saved his life.</p>
<p><b>Ian</b>: Hey. I just got on the L. What are you doing?</p>
<p><b>Mickey</b>: Same thing I was doing when you left. </p>
<p><b>Ian</b>: Have you taken a shower?</p>
<p><b>Mickey</b>: You trying to tell me something?</p>
<p><b>Ian</b>: No. I just think it'll make you feel better. And it's in your toolbox.</p>
<p><em> Fuck </em>. He wished he had never shown Ian his recovery plan, but it felt relevant and really Mickey subconsciously wanted Ian to know he's been working on himself and trying to be better. He felt like he wanted some approval from Ian, or maybe it was understanding or maybe even help. He wasn't sure. Could have been all of the above. Who knows? But he had shown it to him that "morning" over coffee and cigarettes, handing it to him without a word.</p>
<p>Ian had been genuinely interested in it and said it was similar to something he had done years before with a therapist at one of the sliding scale clinics in Chicago. </p>
<p>“Yeah, I got sent to this pretty nice clinic and the therapist was really good, but I only saw her for a few months. Things… ended and I couldn’t… um… afford it anymore.” Ian had stopped short of telling Mickey who had sent him to therapy and who had paid for it, but Mickey was pretty sure he knew or at least had an idea. Regardless, Ian was impressed with Mickey’s plan and read through it with him. </p>
<p>When Ian got to Mickey's Crisis Plan, he scrutinized it more than Mickey expected, making him shift in his seat.</p>
<p>"This doesn't seem like you finished it," Ian had said.</p>
<p>"Whadya mean?" Mickey was a little defensive and pulled back to look at Ian.</p>
<p>"You don't have any of your support people on here."</p>
<p>"Fuck, you're annoying. It sucks you understand this because now you're gonna be all up my ass about it.”</p>
<p>“Look, you don't have Rita-Mae or Audre or your brother… no one but your therapist. And Willie. Which is good, but like, no one else. And I think you should add me."</p>
<p>“I…you…ugh…" Mickey let out what could only be described as a growl, aggravated by the conversation and not knowing how to respond. "Why would I add all those people?” He finally got out.</p>
<p>“You know why.” Ian looked at him sideways and grimaced.</p>
<p>And he did, but it was easier to be surly and dismissive than acknowledge and accept that those people were there (maybe) to support him and that he actually needed to clue them in.</p>
<p>“Yeah, but what’s the point of adding Audre.” Mickey looked down at the ember of his cigarette, temporarily mesmerized by it and thinking about how he wished he could reverse time. “She’s never gonna fuckin’ talk to me again.”</p>
<p>“You don’t know that.” Ian shakes his head. “And, honestly, she seems like she really cares about you, Mickey. You never know. People can surprise you.”</p>
<p>“Doubt it.” Mickey blew out a plume of smoke and sat thinking about all the people that he could add and he suspected Ian was right, which kinda pissed him off. He thought about Iggy and how he had reacted so well to his mini anxiety attack the other day, and that maybe he needed to give his brother a chance to be part of this too. That thought then took him to another realization that had been sitting in the back of his brain for several days.</p>
<p>“You been talkin’ to Iggy?” Mickey looked up at Ian accusingly.</p>
<p>Ian let out a kind of impatient sigh and frowned. “Yeah, Mickey. I’m back in the neighborhood. He came to my welcome home party and I’ve seen him at the Alibi a handful of times.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you need to be talking to him. You hangin’ out with him?”</p>
<p>“Am I supposed to actively snub your brother? Ignore him when he’s sitting five feet away from me?”</p>
<p>“Why would you want to talk to him?” The flood of memories the other night brought with it things he had forgotten, but that he assumed others had not. He had forgotten about Iggy's part in their torture—maybe not completely, but he hadn't remembered the sheer brutality of it. Before that, everything about that twenty-four hour period was shapes, flashes, shadows, and ideas. Patches of pain. Swaths of violence. Samples of cruelty. But they were finally knitted together, and they formed a full picture, one of which Iggy was a bigger part of then he cared to know. He wished he didn't know.</p>
<p>“Mickey, I know Iggy had no choice in what happened. Just like the rest of us.”</p>
<p>“You don’t gotta be talkin’ about me though.” Mickey had been paranoid for days that he had been the topic of conversation between Iggy and Ian, but hadn't quite had the balls to ask. And last time he saw Iggy he was trying to avoid any heavy conversations, wanting to ride the wave of positive feelings he had been on at the time.</p>
<p>Ian let out a long stream of air, looking towards the ceiling. He didn’t deny that they had had conversations about Mickey. Ian just didn’t say anything and looked at Mickey with a somber expression.</p>
<p>“Look, regardless of all that, you should consider sharing the plan with Iggy and putting him on your list. Like you should with Rita-Mae and Audre. And me.” Ian was earnest and sincere and it pulled at Mickey’s heart, helping some of the indignation and defensiveness to melt away.</p>
<p>“Lemme think about it. Okay?” Mickey rubbed his bottom lip and looked at Ian, looked at his sincerity. Looked at his concern.</p>
<p>Ian nodded his head. “Yeah. Okay.” He seemed satisfied and gave a smile that was almost admiring.</p>
<p>So, Ian had read his plan and urged him to shower and start going through the toolbox to stay in the present, be well, and work towards feeling at least a little better, a little more human, because Mickey had shared it with him. Which he didn’t completely regret, but he did know that it meant Ian was going to be fucking annoying about it. </p>
<p>Of course, Ian was right because the plan was right. He had made it with Maria and they had put in things that Mickey knew helped when he was in distress or feeling detached from reality, or just feeling down. Maria had ideas and suggestions and helped develop some of his ideas, but as she said, it was his plan and he needed to create it and own it and believe in it, otherwise it wouldn’t work. He thought he should be proud of what he had done. It was his plan and it had been working most of the time, and at least some little part of it was working that day.</p>
<p>Mickey took a shower and put on clean clothes. He pulled out his small sketchpad and a few pencils and started to draw because that was in the toolbox too. But everything turned to blobs, and he couldn’t tap that well that took over when he was creating. It was frustrating and after several attempts he tossed his sketchpad across the room and laid back down on his bed to take another nap, feeling disconnected from himself and just fucking sad. Of course in that moment, Ian texted.</p>
<p><b>Ian</b>: What are you doing?</p>
<p><b>Mickey</b>: You need to stop asking me that.</p>
<p><b>Ian</b>: No.</p>
<p><b>Mickey</b>: I’m laying down. And I took a shower. You happy?</p>
<p><b>Ian</b>: Yes.</p>
<p><b>Ian</b>: Do you prefer wheat or white bread?</p>
<p><b>Mickey</b>: What?</p>
<p><b>Ian</b>: That was a pretty easy question.</p>
<p><b>Mickey</b>: White.</p>
<p><b>Ian</b>: Great. I’ll see you in like an hour. 🙂</p>
<p><em> So fuckin’ annoying, </em> Mickey thought, but then he smiled and wished Ian would get there quicker. He was starting to feel empty and needed Ian there to help fill the space. He decided to nap until Ian came back, so Mickey closed his eyes and prayed for no nightmares.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Ian came back with two bags full of groceries and a huge dopey smile on his face. Mickey was still in bed after his shower so he could be horizontal while he continued his self-loathing, but he sat up in bed immediately upon the redhead’s return.</p>
<p>"What're you doin'?" Mickey asked as he watched Ian unload groceries and look around Mickey's kitchenette. </p>
<p>"We really gotta get you better cookware," Ian said without turning around.</p>
<p>"Cookware, Gordon Ramsey?" Mickey said, eyebrows arched.</p>
<p>"Yeah," Ian told him. "Cookware."</p>
<p>"So, I'll ask you again…" Mickey huffed out in frustration. "What are you do-ing."</p>
<p>Ian turned around, holding a head of some type of lettuce that looked ridiculously healthy. "I'm making dinner." Ian looked at him like it was an obvious answer. And maybe it was, but it wasn't something Mickey expected.</p>
<p>"Why you doin' that?" Mickey asked.</p>
<p>"Because we need to eat. And something healthy instead of pizza or hot dogs or ramen will be way better. I know your body has to be exhausted. You need to replenish." Ian turned around and continued rummaging through Mickey's shit. "And I got some other groceries 'cos you don't have shit here. Stuff to make sandwiches, some cereal, juice…"</p>
<p>He couldn't argue with him. Mickey felt weak and depleted and he hadn't eaten in almost twenty-four hours. Anyway, it didn't really seem like getting into it with the stubborn ginger was going to do him any good, so he got up to help instead.</p>
<p>"Here, lemme pull some shit out for you. I don't have a lot of space so I had to get creative with where I keep stuff." Mickey started opening drawers and pulling things from shelves and out of the oven.</p>
<p>"It's small, but I really like it." Ian smiled, and Mickey felt like he meant it. "Seems perfect for one person. I'm still sharing a room with Carl." Ian laughed, not seeming annoyed at all.</p>
<p>"Are you serious?" Mickey looked at him with big eyes. </p>
<p>"Yeah, Debbie and her daughter, Franny, are in Fiona's old room, Liam has Deb's old room, Lip and his lady and Fred are in Frank's old room and I'm in my old room with Carl." Mickey hadn't actually followed all that, but he nodded his head anyway.</p>
<p>"Where's Frank?" Mickey wasn't sure why he asked, and had seriously not thought about the Gallagher patriarch since he had beat the shit out of him for refusing to pay a debt to Terry almost five years ago now.</p>
<p>"Who knows?" Ian shrugged. "Don't really care. He's always popped in and out like a feral cat. Just shows up some place and stays until he's used up everything and everyone, and moves to the next place." </p>
<p>Mickey nodded, remembering that about Frank. </p>
<p>"You need a colander." Ian went into the bathroom to wash the vegetables he had thrown into a big bowl he had brought with him, and continued talking. "And we've all kept with the tradition of throwing him in the dumpster from time to time when he becomes unbearable. Debbie kicked him out while I was in prison actually." Ian started laughing and it made Mickey smile. "Tased him out the door and threw all his shit out on the lawn."</p>
<p>"No way. Little Debbie? And she's got a kid?" Mickey snorted out a laugh.</p>
<p>"She's not little anymore. And she’s fucking mean." Ian smiled as he returned to what was now set up as his prep area on the dresser, looking almost like he was proud of his little sister.</p>
<p>"That's funny." Mickey had actually really liked Debbie and Carl when they were little even though Carl was a total psychopath—or maybe it was because he had been a psychopath. He had heard he was trying to be cop now though, which Mickey thought was fucking weird.</p>
<p>Mickey realized he was thinking about the handful of times he had snuck in the Gallagher house when they were whatever they were during that six months or so, and how he had actually ended up spending time with the little ones because the children really ran the house after all. They had always been treated like mini adults—Ian included. So, when Ian would get left in charge of the younger Gallaghers, Mickey would come over to "hang out". </p>
<p>Mickey was thinking about the past and he realized that it wasn't pressing on his chest or causing him to feel like he was going to dissociate, and it made him smile some more.</p>
<p>"What are you smiling about?" Ian asked Mickey, that look of admiration back and more pronounced.</p>
<p>"Nothin'." Mickey shook his head.</p>
<p>Ian nudged him a little with his elbow as he started to chop veggies for what Mickey assumed was a salad. </p>
<p>"I was just thinkin' 'bout sneakin' in your house when we was…you know...and tryin' to get some time in private while the kids were all runnin' around and gettin' in our faces." Mickey's grin grew and he smiled even bigger because he was accessing happy memories and his brain was allowing him to do it. He looked up and saw that Ian was frozen mid-chop and smiling from ear to ear. Mickey thought it might be the goofiest smile he'd ever seen.</p>
<p>"What?" Mickey laughed out his response to Ian's expression.</p>
<p>"Nothing," Ian shrugged and returned to his task. "It's just really nice that you're talking about the past and it's making you smile instead of…" </p>
<p>"Making me freak out?" Mickey offered.</p>
<p>"Yeah, I guess so." Ian nodded his head.</p>
<p>They went silent, but it didn't feel tense. The sound of the knife slicing through vegetables and landing on the cutting board made a snapping noise with every movement, filling the space around them, Mickey finding the sound somewhat satisfying and soothing.</p>
<p>"Where did that come from?" Mickey pointed to the cutting board, suddenly realizing its presence.</p>
<p>"Brought it from my house. We had an extra and I bet that you didn't have one," Ian said.</p>
<p>"Safe bet," Mickey told him. "Can I help? I feel stupid just standing here."</p>
<p>"Does the oven work?" Ian asked.</p>
<p>"Yeah."</p>
<p>"Can you clear it out and set it to three hundred and seventy-five degrees?"</p>
<p>"You gonna bake the salad?" Mickey's eyebrows cocked, confused.</p>
<p>"No." Ian laughed. "I got a few marinated chicken breasts. They're in the fridge."</p>
<p>"You can't be gettin' paid that well. Fancy salad, chicken breast?" Mickey told him as he finished cleaning out the oven and setting the temperature.</p>
<p>"I don't really spend it on much." Ian shrugged. "Almost everyone is working now, so the bills are more evenly split. We all chip in for food. I don't drink much or use drugs…" Ian shrugged again. "I can afford to buy a few chicken breasts. It's not that big of a deal." Ian looked at him intently at first and then lifted one side of his mouth in a smile. "Don't get used to it though. It's back to ramen tomorrow."</p>
<p>"Oh, yeah?" Mickey raised both eyebrows and laughed.</p>
<p>"Uh huh." Ian nodded, popping a piece of carrot in his mouth. "Now put some of this foil over that cookie sheet. That thing is a fuckin' mess."</p>
<p>Mickey did as instructed, feeling better, feeling normal. But not <em> his </em> normal. Someone else's normal. And once again, for a brief moment, he felt like someone else—someone maybe he could be, and it filled his heart with hope.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>They sat sideways on Mickey’s bed after they finished eating. Mickey’s stomach was pushed out because he was so full. He had no idea a healthy dinner could make you feel stuffed, but it had. And it also had done what Ian had hoped and made him feel replenished, like vitamins were actually working their way into his body. </p>
<p>They decided to watch internet videos of random shit, but then Ian saw YouTube's suggestions for Mickey on his phone and died from laughter.</p>
<p>"So many cat videos,” Ian hooted. “What have you been watching?”</p>
<p>“Shut up, dick,” Mickey groused, grabbing his phone.</p>
<p>“No, I love it. It's just surprising.” Ian gave a toothy grin.</p>
<p>“Fuck you,” Mickey said, but he was having trouble hiding that he was smiling too.</p>
<p>“Let's watch some,” Ian offered, not teasing, not laughing.</p>
<p>Mickey started to put the phone away, acting like he was ignoring Ian.</p>
<p>“No, I mean it.” Mickey looked up at Ian and he did indeed look sincere. <em> This guy with all his sincerity. </em> </p>
<p>So they watched cat and animal videos with the phone propped up on pillows that laid in the center on both of their laps. Mickey confessed to Ian that he was thinking about getting a cat and Ian looked like he wanted to fucking cry. <em> What a sap, </em>Mickey thought, and rolled his eyes.</p>
<p>Then they watched car videos. All kinds of videos about cars. Fixing cars, racing cars, car shows. Mini documentaries on cars. And then back to cats. They lost track of time, sitting and laughing, and lightly teasing each other. It was something that friends did. But also something you do with someone you wanted to get closer to, maybe someone you <em> had </em>been indescribably close to many many years before, but had been lost to each other along the way.</p>
<p>It was getting late and Mickey let out a big yawn. He felt sleepy and his brain had ceased some of its buzzing from earlier in the day.</p>
<p>"I think I might finally be getting tired again," he told Ian lazily.</p>
<p>"Okay." Ian stood up. “I should probably let you get to bed.” </p>
<p>Ian looked like he was going to leave, but there was hesitation and a sudden look like his brain was pacing in his head.</p>
<p>"Ian," Mickey said quietly.</p>
<p>Ian looked up suddenly.</p>
<p>"You can spend the night,” Mickey told him and their eyes met. </p>
<p>Ian looked unsure, and seemed to lack the confidence he had been displaying earlier.</p>
<p>“I want you to.” Their eyes locked and Mickey felt like they would stay like that forever, unmoving, unchanging. </p>
<p>“You sure?” Ian asked.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I’m sure.” Mickey nodded.</p>
<p>“Um...what about…” Ian pointed to the bed, seeming to have difficulty finding words, which Mickey found endearing.</p>
<p>“We can just do what we did this morning.” Mickey said. “Is that okay?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I just want to make sure <em> you’re </em>okay, Mickey.” Ian told him. “Whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it.”</p>
<p>
  <em> This fucking guy. </em>
</p>
<p>Mickey nodded his head and looked down, embarrassed for a moment, but determined to not let that defensive, destructive part of his brain take over.</p>
<p>“I need you to stay.” Mickey looked up at Ian again and they understood each other. Understood Mickey didn’t want to be alone. Understood Mickey needed someone with him. Understood he wanted and probably needed it to be Ian. They understood it might not mean much more than that, but that it probably did because, well, that was actually inevitable too. Mickey <em> needed </em> Ian next to him, and they both <em> understood </em> that.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>During the night, Mickey had woken with a start, but he wasn’t sure why. There had been no nightmare or flashes of horror, but he still woke up with momentary fear. He felt Ian stir behind him. Despite the small bed, Ian had been good about keeping space between them, only touching Mickey’s back, rubbing circular patterns into it once again, after Mickey had hinted at it. </p>
<p>Mickey reached behind him and felt Ian’s bicep. It was defined and firm. And warm. Mickey ran his hand down Ian’s arm, grabbing him by the forearm and pulling Ian's arm around him. Their bodies still not touching, Ian's arm slung across Mickey's body, Mickey held to his forearm desperately. He could feel Ian's hot breath gently moving his hair and he heard Ian's breathing change and he knew he was waking up.</p>
<p>“Mickey?” Ian whispered, his voice still raspy with sleep and sounding confused.</p>
<p>Mickey responded by pulling Ian’s arm around him tighter and moving back a few inches.</p>
<p>“Are you okay?” Ian lifted up and said it into Mickey’s ear. It was hot and wet and, although Mickey was sure Ian hadn’t intended it to be, it was sexy and woke up the damn butterflies.</p>
<p>“I’m fine, Ian,” Mickey reassured him. “I…”</p>
<p>Ian didn’t say anything, waiting for Mickey to lead the conversation.</p>
<p>“I...need you closer to me,” Mickey told Ian. “I just need to feel you a little closer.”</p>
<p>“Okay.” Mickey felt Ian nod as he relaxed back into the bed behind him, not needing to ask anymore questions. Not needing any other explanation.</p>
<p>Ian didn’t pull away or advance, he simply let Mickey decide where to position their bodies. Mickey felt the weight of Ian’s arm and it was comforting and warm. It made him feel secure and confident that he wouldn’t leave his body or fall back into the dark parts of their past. It may not have been true, but that was how it felt and he moved back another inch or two until he could feel Ian’s chest against his back, rising and falling gently, until it was moving to the rhythm of sleep. </p>
<p>Mickey could feel Ian’s heartbeat lightly thrumming into his back, a steady, even heartbeat that told Mickey that Ian wasn’t scared or excited or worried. It reassured him and the butterflies settled down and were replaced by a warm glow that radiated to the rest of his body. The warmth of the moment, plus the reassuring rhythm of Ian’s heart lulled Mickey back into a deep sleep.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>“What's with the art supplies?” Ian had asked, gesturing to the shelves at the foot of Mickey’s bed. They were both sitting in his bed, drinking coffee and eating pancakes that Ian had made, Mickey finding it more difficult than it should have been to not get syrup everywhere, but not really caring. “Are you doing art stuff?” Ian looked at him with raised red eyebrows.</p>
<p>“Art stuff?” Mickey smiled at him with a mouth full of sticky sweet breakfast. “Do you know how you sound right now?”</p>
<p>“Like an uneducated Southside street rat?” Ian laughed, but they both froze, looking at each other remembering the playful insult from nine years before, acknowledging it with a shared sad smile.</p>
<p>“Shut up.” Mickey finally broke their gaze and huffed out a little laugh. He looked at his plate of food, thinking of a better way to give Ian shit for what he said. “No, like you’re uncultured.” Mickey laughed again and stuffed more pancakes in his mouth, dribbling syrup down his chin.</p>
<p>“Oh, excuse the fuck out of me. I didn't know how refined you'd gotten,” Ian said, but he obviously wasn’t annoyed because he couldn't hide the amusement in his eyes.</p>
<p>“Whatever, man.” Mickey shrugged. “I know that can't be true. I bet you've been to at least one museum.”</p>
<p>“Sure. Haven't you?”</p>
<p>"What the hell would I be doin' in a museum besides casing it maybe?” Mickey asked him, eyebrow quirked and lips in a line.</p>
<p>“Getting cultured?”</p>
<p>“Alright, smart guy.” Mickey shook his head. “Yes, I do art stuff. I draw.”</p>
<p>“Oh yeah? That's so cool. Can I see some stuff?”</p>
<p>“Um. Not right now. Maybe soon.” Mickey couldn’t meet Ian’s gaze. “But, uh, yeah. Just not yet."</p>
<p>Ian appeared to understand. Mickey wasn't ready to share and he seemed fine with that. Ian just nodded his head. “That's cool. What do you use?”</p>
<p>They talked for a bit about the pencils and charcoal and Mickey showed Ian the different tools he uses and types of paper he's been experimenting with. Ian seemed genuinely fascinated and beamed at him.</p>
<p>"You just keep impressing me, Mickey Milkovich,” Ian said fondly.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I'm real impressive,” Mickey said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.</p>
<p>“You are.” Ian punched his shoulder just enough to move Mickey's limp body. </p>
<p>“Whatever, man.” Mickey couldn’t stop the blush that crept across his cheeks. “It helps. And I like it. And it’s in my <em> toolbox.</em>” Mickey looked at him almost defiantly.</p>
<p>“I didn’t notice that one,” Ian said, looking surprised.</p>
<p>“But you noticed ‘take a shower’.” Mickey looked at Ian, teasing him. “I knew you were tryin’ to tell me something.”</p>
<p>Ian smiled brightly and shook his head. He got up and grabbed both of their disposable plates and tossed them in the garbage then cleaned off their forks in the sink. By the time Ian got back to Mickey’s bed, Mickey had pulled out his recovery plan, a hardcover book on the basics of drawing the human form for backing, and a pencil. Mickey looked up at Ian expectantly, locking eyes and smiling shyly.</p>
<p>“Um…” Mickey stuttered at first. “I’m gonna update this thing.”</p>
<p>Ian slid up on the bed next Mickey, their shoulders almost touching. “Can I help?” Ian asked.</p>
<p>“Yeah.” Mickey nodded his head and opened it up to the toolbox page. “See, asshole, ‘draw’.” Mickey pointed out the item on his list and chuckled.</p>
<p>“Yeah, alright, I see it.” Ian tried to act annoyed, but there was too much mirth in his expression. </p>
<p>Mickey took his pencil and wrote something at the bottom of the list. He pulled back and showed it to Ian.</p>
<p>“‘Eat something healthy’,” Ian recited. He sat back and looked at Mickey with a surprised expression on his face. “You liked that?”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Mickey nodded. “And I think it did make me feel better.”</p>
<p>“I’m really happy it did, Mick.” Ian gasped as soon as he said it and his eyes grew wide. Mickey had an immediate pang of guilt because he knew that Ian was afraid that what he had said would set Mickey off, especially after that first day when he had aggressively told him he didn’t get to call him that.</p>
<p>“Ian…” Mickey shook his head slightly, wanting to reassure him, but having trouble finding the words. Instead, he wrote down another item on his list and showed it to Ian.</p>
<p>“‘Watch random internet shit with a friend’.” Ian read it slowly, and then looked up into Mickey’s eyes, and it looked like Ian might cry.</p>
<p>“It’s okay." Mickey smiled gently at him, looking up into the wide eyes of the man next to him. The emotion on Ian's face almost seemed disproportionate to the gesture, but maybe it wasn't. Ian looked like he wanted to say something, but nothing was coming out, and Mickey definitely didn't know what else he could say right then. But he marveled at how he wasn't overwhelmed by the moment, and that felt really good. Ian sitting next to him felt really good. Ian sitting next to him. Ian in his room. Ian back from the dead.</p>
<p>Mickey looked down and saw Ian’s hand resting on Ian's thigh. Mickey was holding back an urge that was getting harder to resist. Fuck resistance anyway. Who needs that bitch? On impulse, Mickey moved his hand down and felt the top of Ian's hand. He began to trace Ian's fingers and his thumb, who didn't move as Mickey slid finger tips over and around his hand, and Mickey was completely entranced, transfixed. </p>
<p>Mickey felt the texture of Ian’s skin, which rippled a bit under Mickey’s touch, and the tips of his fingers focused on the sharp bones of Ian’s knuckles. Mickey ran his fingers along the contours and traced the veins where Ian’s blood flowed, and he finally rested his hand, covering the top of Ian's. Then ever so slowly, Ian rolled his hand over, offering his palm to Mickey, offering for him to continue to explore while they both focused their gazes on the action. </p>
<p>Mickey painted Ian’s palm with the pads of his fingers, going over the lines and pausing to feel his pulse under the smooth and delicate skin of Ian’s wrist. Life line. Head line. Heart line. </p>
<p>Mickey danced his fingers along Ian's, and then rested them there. He lined up their hands, Ian's fingers, being so much longer than Mickey's, peeked over the top. He shifted his hand a half an inch to the right until his fingers were just off register with Ian’s. And ever so slowly, caressing and pulsing as he went along at an excruciatingly slow pace, Mickey laced their fingers together and clasped his hand over Ian’s, who mimicked the action.</p>
<p>Mickey looked up into Ian’s glowing eyes, the expression on the redhead’s face was hopeful and adoring, but also cautious, and Mickey wanted to touch his face so bad it might have hurt, but he thought better of it. This was enough. This was a lot. Mickey smiled at him, reassuring and calm.</p>
<p>“So, you wanna write your information in my safety plan?” Mickey asked, and Ian’s eyebrow quirked. “I can’t exactly write right now; my hand is busy.” Mickey looked down at their hands joined together and he knew his face was red hot with embarrassment, but he just didn’t care.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Ian nodded, grabbing the recovery plan, which encompassed the safety plan. “I can do that, Mick.”</p>
<p>They both leaned back, admiring each other for a moment and feeling the connection of their bodies, something so much more innocent than the way their relationship started so long ago when they were different people. So much more innocent than either of them had ever hoped to experience with another person. Innocent and intimate and beautiful. And they stayed like that while Ian went through Mickey’s plan with him. They talked and made changes and debated and argued gently, but mostly agreed, and hoped that what they were doing was the start of repairing something that had been broken by someone else when they were still too young and too powerless to do anything to fix it.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Mickey had insisted on making them lunch, grumbling that he knew how to make a fucking sandwich thank you very much. Occasionally he looked over and would catch Ian looking away, so Mickey had a sneaking suspicion he was being admired, but he never quite caught Ian in the act. It made Mickey smile where he thought maybe he should feel uncomfortable, but he didn't.</p>
<p>While they ate their sandwiches and leftover salad, Ian put on some music that Mickey didn't like, but he didn't really care and didn't say anything to Ian about it. He felt too comfortable to make a big deal over something so trivial. Mickey sat by the window, looking out at the sun, and he wondered if he should go outside, but didn't want to suggest it because he was positive Ian would think it was a great idea and then make them actually leave what Mickey had come to feel was his fortress.</p>
<p>Mickey was brought out of his thoughts by Ian clearing his throat. </p>
<p>"You alright?" Mickey asked, switching his gaze over to Ian.</p>
<p>"Yeah," Ian nodded. "So, uh, Rita-Mae texted and she said she's been texting you. She wants to talk to you."</p>
<p>"Ugh." Mickey felt a weight drop down on him.</p>
<p>"She said it's important she talk to you before work tomorrow," Ian told him.</p>
<p>Mickey hadn't really thought about the fact that he would have to come to work and have to see her or need to talk to her. He had been in a little bubble with Ian since he was retrieved from Starving Rock and other than moments of slipping into internal disgust mixed with some fear, he had stopped thinking beyond the weekend and being in his space with Ian, who he now unequivocally remembered, and could not ever forget again, had been the boy he had once been in love with. The only boy. Ever.</p>
<p>"What did you tell her?" Mickey heard the whining in his voice and blushed, but couldn’t seem to help himself.</p>
<p>"That you were fine. Just exhausted and that I would tell you."</p>
<p>"I'm not that exhausted."</p>
<p>"She doesn't need to know that. I was buying you time."</p>
<p>"Fuck."</p>
<p>"Just text her, Mickey."</p>
<p>"Fine." Mickey stomped over to his phone like a child and saw his messages from Rita-Mae. Several he had ignored earlier, but at least two were new. They all said pretty much the same thing—for him to text or call her before the end of the weekend. Except the last one. The last one was not as nice </p>
<p><b>Rita-Mae</b>: Hey. You don't get to fucking ignore me after that shit you pulled the other night. You better call me.</p>
<p>"Fuck," Mickey moaned. </p>
<p>"What?" Ian looked up.</p>
<p>"She's pissed."</p>
<p>"Yeah," Ian said casually and then went back to his sandwich.</p>
<p>Mickey wasn't ready for reality, but he knew it was only going to get worse the longer he waited. He let out a slow anxiety ridden breath and dialed her number.</p>
<p>"Hello." Her voice sounded weird on the phone, like a different person, someone softer and younger.</p>
<p>"Hey, Rita-Mae," Mickey said, trying to keep the tremble out of his voice.</p>
<p>"Hey." It was all she said and she let the silence sit. Mickey felt like it was some kind of punishment because it definitely felt like torture.</p>
<p>"Um… I'm sorry it took so long to call you." He wasn't sure what she wanted to hear him say, so he started with an apology. Seemed like a safe bet.</p>
<p>"Yeah?" Fuck, she was making this hard.</p>
<p>"And, I, uh… I'm sorry about Friday. I don't know how to explain what happened," Mickey stuttered out, but there was still silence.</p>
<p>"And thank you for helping Ian find me." Mickey felt like he was done. He couldn't say anything more. </p>
<p>Rita-Mae let out a long ragged breath. "Mickey, I would be lying if I said I wasn't pissed at you," she finally spoke, but her tone was even and volume normal. "But I'm also glad you're okay. Both those can be true."</p>
<p>He knew she was right, being someone who had been learning so much more than he ever wanted to know about complex emotions.</p>
<p>"I don't want you to start work in the morning. I want you to call your therapist and see if she can see you sooner and I want you to talk to Willie. I want you to tell him what happened."</p>
<p>"Rita—"</p>
<p>"This is not negotiable," she interrupted him. "Mickey, he isn't gonna fire you."</p>
<p>"You don't know that." Mickey was whining again.</p>
<p>"I do. I can all but promise you that, but you need to come clean. We aren't gonna keep this from him, and I honestly think he would figure out something was up sooner rather than later, anyway. And you know you've needed to talk to him for a while."</p>
<p>Mickey let out a stream of air that pretty much confirmed what she was saying.</p>
<p>"Okay." Mickey nodded his head even though she couldn't see him.</p>
<p>"And you need to talk to Audre," Rita-Mae said and he could hear strain in her voice. "I'm not gonna tell you when and where to do that, but you need to. So figure it out."</p>
<p>"Yeah." His voice sounded small and even squeaked a little. He was embarrassed and he felt darkness pool in his stomach because this was the center of his shame and self-disgust; he had betrayed the trust of his friend and possibly—probably—lost her forever.</p>
<p>“Let me talk to Ian.” Rita-Mae caught him off guard and he almost protested, but quickly realized it was ill conceived.</p>
<p>"She wants to talk to you." Mickey held the phone out to Ian, whose eyebrows shot up and he swallowed his last bite of food hard. Ian took the phone slowly and put it to his ear.</p>
<p>"H—hi, Boss," Ian said quietly. </p>
<p>Mickey could hear her talking, but not what she was saying, and it was making him crazy.</p>
<p>"I guess I can. If he wants me to," Ian said, looking up at Mickey. "No, it's ok. I'll be fine missing the time. Um, you wanna tell him that?" Rita-Mae continued to talk into Ian's ear and Mickey knew that it was all about him. He could feel himself getting more agitated by the minute and he was ready for it to end.</p>
<p>"Oh...okay. I will then." Ian did not look happy and he had started staring at the floor. "Okay. I'll see you tomorrow. Bye." Ian hung up and handed the phone to Mickey.</p>
<p>"What the fuck was that all about?" Mickey could hear his voice was raised, but couldn't control his volume. </p>
<p>Ian let out a big exhale and met Mickey's gaze. "She wants me to stay with you and she's giving me tomorrow off so I can…support you. I guess."</p>
<p>"You mean babysit me." Mickey was indignant. He had learned not that long what that emotion really meant and at that moment he definitely felt like he was the picture of indignant.</p>
<p>"It's not my idea," Ian protested.</p>
<p>"That's what you wanted her to tell me, right? Because you know it's a fucked up idea and you didn't want to," Mickey said accusingly.</p>
<p>Ian nodded. "Well, but...no...I mean…" Ian was struggling with how to explain what he felt and Mickey was growing impatient waiting. "Mickey, I don't completely think it's a stupid idea, but I knew you wouldn't like it, and I also think it should be your decision. Not Rita-Mae's. Not mine." Ian's lips were pursed and Mickey could see that Ian was in a tough spot, but he didn't feel like helping him out.</p>
<p>"Look," Ian started, "why don't I take the day off and I'll just be...I don't know…Available?"</p>
<p>"Available?" Mickey lifted one eyebrow and ran his thumb across his nose. "What the fuck does that mean?"</p>
<p>"Like I won't make any other plans and if you need me I'll be there. And if you don't then that's great."</p>
<p>Mickey sat down in his found-on-the-side-of-the-road chair to think. He needed to think. He hated the feeling that Rita-Mae thought he had to be watched, be taken care of, but maybe he did. He certainly hadn't given her any reason to be confident in his ability to take care of himself recently, especially after Friday night. </p>
<p>Mickey had lost control and he imagined she was worried he would do it again. Worried he'd fuck up and hurt more people. Probably worried he'd fuck up and hurt himself, ruining everything he'd built, everything he'd worked so hard for. Mickey knew she was right to worry. Shit, he was worried too, but he still felt like he was being treated like a child and he hated it.</p>
<p>And what about Ian? Mickey had to really think about the fact that he had been in his space this whole weekend. He had wanted him there, was terrified of the thought of him leaving. But then he felt like he was being told he had to have Ian there, which made him want Ian to leave. <em> Fuck </em>. He knew he was being stubborn, and he honestly was so tired of fighting everything inside of him all the fucking time. Mickey wanted to just give in, and it was likely he would.</p>
<p>"Listen, Ian." Mickey got up and walked over to the bed to sit next to the freckle-faced ginger with the most twisted up confused and concerned face Mickey had ever seen, with maybe a sprinkle of fear in there too. "I want you here. I've wanted you here, but Rita-Mae trying to make that decision for me…I just…"</p>
<p>Mickey trailed off and focused on his hands that were folded in his lap.</p>
<p>"You're not at that part of the plan," Ian said.</p>
<p>Mickey looked up quickly. "What?"</p>
<p>"The safety plan. In your plan there are like phases or stages. And it tells your support people how they can support you when you are in different phases of your illness—"</p>
<p>"Illness?" Mickey's eyebrows almost touched his hairline and his eyes went wide. "Who said I have an illness?"</p>
<p>"Okay. Whatever you want to call it. For me it's my illness. I have bipolar disorder. It's chronic. Like diabetes. It's an illness that causes me to have symptoms that can make me unsafe. You have symptoms of something—call it whatever you want—that leads you to also sometimes be unsafe. The recovery plan describes what you're like when you're well, right?"</p>
<p>"Yeah." Mickey nodded.</p>
<p>"And you've listed out what you're like when you're not well. Right?"</p>
<p>"Yeah."</p>
<p>"Well, there are places to write what level of support and intervention you need when you are not well."</p>
<p>"Okaaaay." Mickey was getting impatient and needed Ian to get to the point.</p>
<p>"You write down what sort of help you need according to the symptoms you explain that people might see. Sometimes you're gonna just need someone to tell you to use your toolbox. Sometimes you're gonna need someone to talk you down. And sometimes—"</p>
<p>"I'm gonna need someone to chase after my stupid ass and drag me back to reality," Mickey said with a joyless smile.</p>
<p>Ian's lips formed a straight line and he nodded. "Sometimes you have to actually let someone else take control because you're not in control. I've unfortunately experienced getting to that level of sickness more times than I care to admit. But you aren't there. Not now."</p>
<p>Mickey nodded his head and locked eyes with Ian. He felt immense sadness swelling in his chest, and he wasn't sure if it was for him or for Ian. Probably both.</p>
<p>"Yeah, that makes sense." Mickey started chewing on his bottom lip. "And I remember now I had a lot of trouble working on that with Maria. I kinda ignored what she was sayin'. She didn't push me, so I didn't really get it. Maybe I didn't want to. Someone else was in control of me for so damn long, Ian. The idea of giving it up and giving someone the instruction manual on when and how to do it again is fucking scary."</p>
<p>"But you're not a robot, Mickey. And none of us <em> want </em> to control you. I don't want that. I want you to control yourself. Be yourself. Be who you are." Ian's smile was somber and Mickey knew that sad smile held so many truths about Mickey that only Ian knew. Truths about who he was that he had never been able to truly face. </p>
<p>"I'm not sure who I am," Mickey admitted and cringed because to him, the words sounded like some made-for-TV movie where the upper middle class pretty white girl has some existential crisis because of some fucking class she took at her liberal arts college. Then Mickey wanted to laugh because Maria had warned him once that he might be headed for an existential crisis, but at the time it sounded ridiculous and like some bullshit that happened to rich people, or hippies who'd taken too many mushrooms, and he had dismissed what she had said. </p>
<p>But now Mickey's thinking she might have been right. </p>
<p>"Ian, I'm not sure who I am anymore. A little over a year ago I was sitting in a cell, waiting to either get shived in there or get out and be murdered for being a fucking snitch. And that's another thing." Mickey stood up and started pacing the floor. </p>
<p>"I was a snitch, Ian." He turned to Ian and threw his hands in the air. "Mickey Milkovich snitched on his own father. If you had told me five, six years ago I was gonna do that...I would have beat your fuckin' ass."</p>
<p>"Mickey—" Ian attempted to reach out, but Mickey didn't seem like he was going to stop.</p>
<p>"No, Ian, listen." Mickey sat back down on the bed. "I've been a criminal, a thug, just a bad guy for years. I've been a Milkovich through and through—Terry's son, a convict, a felon…I've been a snitch. I've been a closeted fag, and I was whatever I was to you…"</p>
<p>"Still are, Mickey," Ian said and his voice cracked with emotion. </p>
<p>"Ian." Mickey shook his head. "Alright. I'm still whatever I am to you. We just don't know what."</p>
<p>Ian nodded his head quickly and it was so cute that Mickey almost lost his train of thought.</p>
<p>"And what the fuck am I now? I've been this guy for not even a year. I have no fucking clue what I'm doing. Or how to do it. I…"</p>
<p>"I think you're selling yourself short." Ian's face was drawn and serious. "You know a lot about what you're doing. You're fuckin' kicking ass. I can't believe all you've done in a year."</p>
<p>"But one year out of twenty-five years of shit… I'm just all of a sudden supposed to be this other person who keeps a legal job, and isn't always trying to figure out who to scam, and draws and goes to fucking fancy coffee shops."</p>
<p>"Whoa, what?" Ian sits back. "Have you been going to a fancy coffee shop?"</p>
<p>Mickey just snorts out a little laugh and doesn't confirm or deny the possible trip to the fancy coffee shop. Mickey's silly momentary shame lightens the mood for a second and gives Mickey pause.</p>
<p>"Ian, I'm not sure who I am and how I'm supposed to act and it scares the shit out of me. What if I can't actually do this? What if I can't be anything but that guy who did what his father told him to do no matter how terrible it was? And for years...even after… even after he almost killed you?" Mickey's voice cracked and he felt hot tears forming on his bottom eyelids.</p>
<p>"That's bullshit," Ian said vehemently, inching a little closer. "You did what you had to do to survive, but you set yourself free."</p>
<p>"How? By snitching? You know I didn't kill him, right? Everyone thought I did, but I didn't."</p>
<p>"But before that you tried. And you tried because he never stopped trying to keep you from being who you really are. And he never stopped trying to hurt you or people around you."</p>
<p>"Wait, why are you saying all that?” Mickey looked at him feeling irritated and paranoid. “How do you know what I did?" </p>
<p>"Ugh." Ian looked at the ceiling like he was searching for words.</p>
<p>Ian shifted his body so he could look Mickey directly in the eye. "Mickey, I know what happened that night. I know how you ended up in prison."</p>
<p>"What? Iggy told you?" Mickey asked, feeling his hackles raised.</p>
<p>"No," Ian shook his head, "Um...Dylan...told me," he whispered.</p>
<p>Mickey was frozen. No one knew about Dylan—no one but Collin because he was there and Iggy, apparently, because Collin had told him. But neither of them knew the whole story or Dylan's name. How was this happening?</p>
<p>"What the fuck?" Mickey gasped and searched Ian's face. "How—"</p>
<p>"I knew him...kinda." Ian cleared his throat and began looking exceedingly uncomfortable. "He worked with...my boyfriend at the time…"</p>
<p>"Boyfriend?" Mickey's eyebrows danced on his forehead, then a look of realization came over his face. "At that fuckin' queer center." Mickey said the words quietly and he felt like he was in a dream.</p>
<p>"Uh, huh," Ian confirmed. "I used to volunteer there too. He came in one day, busted up and said that he had ran into this guy he'd been seeing and that the guy's father started bashing him, but that 'Mickey' had pulled the old man off him and went ballistic."</p>
<p>Mickey looked at him, not sure how to react, but then he saw him, saw Dylan, walking up the street towards him and Collin and Terry, who was drunk and loaded to the gills. And honestly, so was Mickey.</p>
<p>Mickey felt like he was in a fog and he could feel himself start to struggle between going back to that night or staying grounded in the present.</p>
<p>"He just kept getting closer to us." Mickey could hear himself talking, but felt disconnected from his words. "I couldn't do nothin' to stop it. It was like watching a car crash in slow motion. I tried to cross the street, but Terry yanked me back on the sidewalk. And then it happened…" Mickey trailed off.</p>
<p>"I'm sorry, Mickey," Ian said with heartbreaking sincerity.</p>
<p>"He called out for me. And he was just so… Fuck! He was just so fucking faggy." Mickey sounded angry. "I had told him people didn't know about me, and that my life was rough. It was like he didn't fuckin' believe me. And he just walked up to me. Tried to <em> hug </em> me. And my dad just fuckin' lost it. I should've broken it off with Dylan. I knew I couldn't keep him safe. But it was the first time I kinda liked somebody since…" Mickey let out a ragged breath. "Sorry." Mickey couldn't meet Ian's gaze.</p>
<p>"Mickey, it's okay. You don't have to be sorry. It's okay that you liked someone."</p>
<p>"No, it's not, Ian." Mickey was looking at Ian again and his gaze grew in intensity. "It was never okay for me to like someone or want to be with someone because I couldn't keep them safe." Mickey's voice cracked.</p>
<p>"Mickey." Ian lifted his hand like he wanted to touch Mickey's face, but he slowly lowered it instead. "You did keep him safe. Dylan said you saved his life. He was upset you chased him away before the cops came. He wanted to defend you. "</p>
<p>"It wouldn't have mattered." Mickey shook his head. "They would have used Dylan against me. It would have been evidence of intent. They were ready for me."</p>
<p>"Yeah, sounds like it," Ian acknowledged.</p>
<p>Mickey looked at him wanting more answers.</p>
<p>"I followed everything. The whole case. It was Dylan mostly at first and he didn't know that I knew you, so he talked about you. Kinda a lot." Ian's voice sounded dry and full of gravel. He cleared his throat. "And then I kinda started spinning out a little bit and started asking around. People from the neighborhood."</p>
<p>"Ian." Mickey sounded disapproving. </p>
<p>"I couldn't stop myself. I needed to know what was happening. I needed to know you were okay." The last part was whispered and Ian began to stare at his hands on his knees.</p>
<p>Mickey looked down at Ian's hands too, then he reached over and put his hand on top of his. He left it resting there, both of them staring at the place where their bodies were joined.</p>
<p>"I don't know what to say," Mickey finally spoke. "I mean no matter what, I wasn't okay, but in the end it could have been worse. But that night… It was fucking horrible. And I just couldn't let him do it anymore, Ian. I couldn't let him keep hurting people I cared about. I almost killed him. I was disappointed I didn't."</p>
<p>"I get it." Ian finally looked up and Mickey did as well at the same time. Ian looked like he wanted to tell him something, but couldn't get it out. "Look, whatever happened that night, no matter how fucked up and horrible, it led you to here. To right here. Right now. And you fucked up, but you didn't destroy what you built."</p>
<p>Mickey was trying to absorb what Ian was saying, but found it really hard and he started to concentrate on the warmth of Ian's hand under his instead. As if Ian could see inside Mickey's mind, he flipped his hand over and laced their fingers. He gave Mickey a gentle squeeze. Kept him present.</p>
<p>"I can't tell you who you are to yourself. Who you think you are. And that's the most important thing. But to me you're a badass mechanic that can rebuild cars that are fifty years old. You're a great teacher, and...a roll model. And I hope my friend. You're a guy that does not do anyone else's bidding anymore. You're a <em> man </em> who belongs to himself. And that's the most important thing to me. You're free."</p>
<p>He looked up into watery green eyes. So earnest. So beautiful. And Mickey knew he was in danger of falling into Ian's eyes and leaving his body. Ian gave him another squeeze and showed him a smile that said love and admiration and hope. And Mickey wanted to fall into that too.</p>
<p>"I don't feel free," Mickey finally said, sounding more tired than anything else.</p>
<p>"I know." Ian nodded. "You will. It'll just take time. And I'll be there when I can. I'm not perfect—I'm actually pretty fucked up." Ian huffed out a laugh that Mickey gave a small sideways smile to in response.</p>
<p>"I have a lot of work to do too, Mickey, and I'm no good to anyone else if I'm not well. It's been one of the hardest lessons to learn. But when you need something, as long as I'm well enough to, I'll be there to help you."</p>
<p>All Mickey could do was nod.</p>
<p>"I'm gonna fuck up, though. And you're gonna have to tell me when I'm...too much. Okay?"</p>
<p>"Yeah, okay," Mickey said.</p>
<p>"So, tomorrow, whatever you want me to do, I'll do. It's your decision."</p>
<p>Mickey swallowed thickly feeling pressure pushing down on his crown. He wanted Ian to be around him, had an irrational fear at the idea of him <em> not </em> being there. But he had no idea what tomorrow would look like and he felt like he didn't have quite the right answer. </p>
<p>"I don't know what's gonna happen tomorrow," Mickey stated. "So I'm not sure what I'm gonna wanna do. But I know I want you here right now. And I want you to be here tonight. Is that good enough? For now?"</p>
<p>Ian's eyes started to well up again, and Mickey was immediately worried that they were about to turn into a chick flick where they both start crying because of their "bond" with each other and mutual admiration or some shit. He <em> really </em> hoped they didn't. </p>
<p>"That's great." Ian nodded, still threatening to get theatrical.</p>
<p>"Alright, cut it out." Mickey unlaced their fingers, but then moved his hand to Ian's shoulder and gripped it firmly. "And thank you," Mickey finally said with a soft voice that bordered on too intimate, too emotional, but was just restrained enough.</p>
<p>They spent the rest of the day doing a lot of nothing. Mickey did show him some drawings, but not the recent ones that would have revealed way too much. Ian told Mickey stupid stories about the Gallagher clan, which Mickey found more amusing than he wanted to. Despite Mickey trying to keep his thoughts about maybe going outside under wraps, Ian brought it up anyway and made Mickey leave the room to go for a walk and "get some vitamin D". </p>
<p>They got takeout even though Ian wanted to cook again and they watched a movie on Ian's phone since he had Debbie's Netflix account on it, which Ian insisted on giving Mickey the login and password for later that night. </p>
<p>Reality was delayed once again, and it felt really good.</p>
<p>There was no doubt that they were in a bubble. A bubble that Mickey was not ready to burst. Just like their hand holding, it felt like the sweetest most innocent version of the weekend they spent together when they were kids. He knew reality was around the corner, but he desperately wanted to pretend it wasn’t. </p>
<p>Nothing had progressed beyond hand holding and sitting shoulder to shoulder, neither of them had even been particularly flirty, but it had been the most intimate experience of Mickey’s life besides the weekend that had changed their lives and led them down very different paths away from one another. It may have even been even more intimate because it was still and quiet and there were no threats, other than Mickey’s anxious mind, looming above them. </p>
<p>And there was something about just <em> being </em> in that confined space together, sharing stupid stories and dumb edits online, talking about favorite foods and movies, catching up on the Gallaghers and avoiding talking about the Milkoviches…it was like they were getting to know someone for the first time, and maybe in a way they were. Nine years is a long time, and although much of what happened during that time was stuff neither of them wanted to talk about, there was still plenty to catch up on, and even a few things they could reminisce about.</p>
<p>It was sweet and innocent, intimate and private, and Mickey wished he could suspend time so they could have a few more days to just be. Because it was all of those things and it was also beautiful, but mostly it was just Ian and Mickey, and that felt simply sublime.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Mickey takes a deep breath and sits back in the chair in the waiting room. He releases it along with his reflections on the weekend. He hadn't really spent all weekend just eating and sleeping and trying to get rid of Ian. He had done the opposite of trying to get rid of him and he knows that's true, and he smiles despite himself.</p>
<p>"What are you smiling at?" Mickey turns and looks at the man next to him, who is smiling as well, with a crinkled freckle covered nose.</p>
<p>"Nothin'." Mickey looks down at the carpet, feeling shy. Feeling vulnerable. But also feeling kind of safe because Ian is next to him. And as much as he doesn't want to need someone right then, he does, and he's glad it's the someone sitting beside him in this buttercup-colored waiting room of wounded souls.</p>
<p>"Mickey." He hears Maria's benign voice and looks up suddenly. Mickey stands, but freezes in front of Ian, eyes wide as he looks down at him.</p>
<p>Ian's lips turn up into a sideways smile. His smile. The same one that was on his face nine years ago that would make Mickey's heart stop. And it might be stopping his heart right now too, but probably his heart stopping is mostly because the reality of going in to see his therapist and telling her about his revelations, fuck ups and traumas just became very real.</p>
<p>"I'll be right here," Ian reassures him and Mickey sees his hand twitch because he's pretty sure Ian wants to touch him, to physically comfort him, but he restrains himself and Mickey isn't sure if he's grateful or not. "I promise." Ian adds, nodding his head.</p>
<p>Mickey doesn't speak, only nods back at Ian and tries to pull the fear from the smile he gives to him. And it almost works as he turns to follow Maria's kind face and warm demeanor into her office because he knows Ian <em> will </em> be there when he returns to the waiting room after baring his soul. And that he knows he <em> is </em> grateful for.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello everyone!</p>
<p>I'm sorry it took so long to get this out, but I just want to thank all of you that reached out and have been so supportive. I truly appreciate it.</p>
<p>I think this chapter feels different than the others. It certainly felt different to write. It's funny also because I kept telling people it was going to be short. Turns out I mean just not 20,000 words long. Lol. 😂</p>
<p>I wanted to talk about the use of the "recovery plan". These are also sometimes called "relapse prevention plans" and "wellness plans". They have different titles but all with the same intent, which is to help someone map out a way to be well, prevent relapse of symptoms or use of substances, and/or show what to do when relapse happens or severity of symptoms increases--or just how to be well. Many plans will include a safety plan within them. I think they are great for all kinds of things. People use them for smoking, mental illness, eating disorders. They are also adapted for families, youth and adults. I don't want to advertise for anyone, but the Wellness Recovery Action Plan (WRAP) is my favorite and was developed by folks with mental health diagnoses. The books cost money, but they aren't pricey and there is an app that is free. Regardless, my two favorite things about any recovery plan is the toolbox and the safety plan. I have a toolbox that's ever changing and I love it. All of those types of plans are easily found when searched on the internet if you're interested in checking them out. As usual it goes without saying that not everyone experiences mental health issues the same and not everyone responds to interventions the same. So use your best judgement and I always encourage people to consult with a mental health professional.</p>
<p>I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. You may have noticed the chapter count just crept up to 12. There was just no way I was going to be able to wrap this up with the next chapter, so we got 3 more to go! I expect Chapter 10 to be ready November 29th if all goes well.</p>
<p>Thanks again to everyone!</p>
<p>Be well!</p>
<p>💖💖💖</p>
<p>Chat Noir</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello Everyone.</p><p>I don't normally add notes at the beginning, but felt it necessary because I added a tag for this chapter that you would not have previously seen. Though I promise this chapter does not center around these things and it is not about them, it does contain brief descriptions of violent acts and also a discussion of a past suicide attempt. I hope you still enjoy the chapter and be well.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mickey sits across from Maria without saying anything for an uncomfortable amount of time, Maria leaving the space open, letting him sit with his thoughts. Finally, Mickey looks up at her. Her head is tilted and she has a kind smile on her face like she almost always does.</p><p>“Lotsa stuff happened this week,” Mickey says to start out because he doesn’t really know what else to say.</p><p>“Okay.” Maria nods, waiting for him to elaborate, but he never does. “I see you brought your homework folder. Were you able to get some of that done this week?”</p><p>Mickey groans in a low tone and sets the folder down on the table. “No.” Mickey shakes his head and rubs his palms on his jeans as they have become sweaty and a little shaky. “I mean...A lot happened.” He looks up to meet her gaze and sees her face is open, not judging, ready to listen, and he feels stupid that he can’t get it out.</p><p>“Take your time, Mickey.” Maria reassures him.</p><p>“That’s my recovery plan,” Mickey says, pointing to the folder she had given him last week. “I brought it because I need to update it. I got...what do you call it? Triggered. On Friday, and it came back.” Mickey’s voice cracked.</p><p>He shakes his head, not even sure how to get it out. How does he say all he needs to say without actually telling her every detail? He is struggling and she sees it. Where sometimes Maria let’s him sit and get to the conclusion she knows he can get to, now is not one of those times.</p><p>“Mickey, did you get flooded?” Maria asks him.</p><p>Mickey nods his head, picking at the skin around his thumbnail. “Yeah.” His voice is quiet and he is having trouble making eye contact again. “I had a really good week last week. Like really good. Everyone I saw and everything I did was good. And we got the Chevelle started.” Mickey looks up at her, a sliver of excitement working its way through the fear and shame.</p><p>“That’s wonderful,” Maria says and he knows that she means it.</p><p>“Yeah.” He nods. “So, things were fuckin’ great and Ian wanted to go out and celebrate.”</p><p>“Ian?” Maria asks.</p><p>“Yeah.” Mickey nods again and takes a deep breath. “We decided to try to be friends, and it was hard at times because we obviously are...uh...attracted to each other.” Mickey says that last part very slowly, feeling like he’s pulling it out of himself. “But we tried and we were doing really good.”</p><p>Maria is listening intently and nodding her head for him to continue.</p><p>“So, he wanted to celebrate.” Mickey sits up taller, feeling like he’s buckling in for a rough ride. “I didn't really wanna go, but I met with him at one of the clubs in Boystown. I just couldn’t handle it. We had a good time for a while, but I drank too much and he wanted to dance. I got jealous and angry at him ‘cos he was dancing too close to other guys…” Mickey shakes his head.</p><p>“Do you think he was trying to make you jealous or that he was unreasonable in his actions?” Maria asks.</p><p>“Maybe.” Mickey lets out a stuttered breath. “I don’t know. I think part of him really wanted to dance and that’s how a lot of guys do that. But I think that he probably did at least a little bit want to make me jealous.”</p><p>“Subconsciously?” Maria asks.</p><p>“Yeah,” Mickey points at her, “that. I think he did, but didn't think about doing it. Whatever. I did get jealous and I left, but he followed me home and we argued. It’s ridiculous when I think about it. I don’t know.”</p><p>“What happened next?”</p><p>“He confronted me about me being ashamed of being gay and my dad and I fucking started crying, and having like, little flashbacks. We got a little physical. Like pushing. I was crying harder. And he…” Mickey bites his bottom lip harder than he means to, but it keeps him present and he needs that. “He held me. He held on to me. At first I just—I don’t know—let it all go and it felt good, but he was holding me so tight and I just started seeing things and feeling things. I guess. That part is a little blurry.”</p><p>“Okay.” Maria nods. “So what happened after that?”</p><p>“I kicked him out even though he begged me not to. And I just started telling myself fucked up shit. Started thinking about Terry. I just spun out of control. I get now why you kept calling it flooding. I fucking drowned in memories.” Mickey’s breathing is ragged and he feels the threat of tears.</p><p>Maria looks at him compassionately. "It can be pretty frightening and overwhelming."</p><p>"It was. And I didn't handle it so well," Mickey tells her.</p><p>"What happened, Mickey?" She asks.</p><p>"Fuck." Mickey can't seem to get the words out of his mouth. "I really fucked up, Maria." Before he can stop himself the tears start to fall freely from his eyes. He can't hold back anymore and he starts talking rapidly through the tears as they spring from his eyes. </p><p>"I took the car. I just felt like such a piece of shit. I wasn't really thinking. I just wanted to escape. And I took the car. I took the Chevelle and I just started driving. All these memories of Ian, my father, what he did to us…They all crashed in on me and I lost my fucking shit." Mickey reaches down and grabs tissue to clean up his face, trying to regain some control. </p><p>Maria stands up and pours him water from a Britta into a clear plastic cup and hands it to him before going back to her seat. Mickey drinks it quickly and then immediately gasps for air.</p><p>"It's okay, Mickey. Take your time. You're safe here," Maria tells him and he knows he is. He knows nothing will happen to him here. He knows there are no consequences to him telling the truth and trusting the woman across from him. Mickey can tell her anything he wants, anything he needs to. </p><p>"You know. I knew the outline of what had happened. I knew—or I thought I knew—what Ian had meant to me. Thought I knew what happened between us. What happened with my—" The words catch in his throat, and he lets out a ragged breath.</p><p>"I didn't know shit. I had buried that shit so deep and lied to myself off and on for years. We were so young." Mickey finally makes eye contact. "Ian was fourteen and I was sixteen when we got together. And...we were in love with each other. I was in <em> love </em> with him. And for this short window of time I thought I could love someone and they could love me and I could be happy…happy." Mickey pushes his bottom lip against his teeth and laughs sarcastically. "Then he caught us. He caught us and he took him away from me."</p><p>"Terry caught you together?" Maria asked.</p><p>"Yeah. In bed together. In my bed." Mickey shutters, remembering again Terry crashing in on them.</p><p>"I had never been with a guy before. I knew deep down I was attracted to guys, but I was always so afraid, had convinced myself it wasn't true. But Ian… He just…" Mickey has stars in his eyes and he has a far away look. "I couldn't stay away from him. I wanted to. I tried. But I couldn't."</p><p>"How long were you together?" Maria asks.</p><p>"I don't know if you can say we were together. We were fucking for six months. Then one weekend we were together. At my house. And that's when we both knew. For sure."</p><p>"And that's when your father discovered you?"</p><p>"Yeah. In the middle of having sex." Mickey can feel the anger swell in his chest and he hopes he can hold it at bay.</p><p>"You don't have to go into detail if you don't want to, Mickey. Don't force yourself."</p><p>"No, I want to tell you. I want you to know." Mickey tells Maria about what he remembers of that twenty-four hour period and how they were abused and that he was convinced Ian was dead. He tells her about some of the cruel things Terry said to him and the abuse that continued even after his bones started to heal. And he tells her about finally seeing that Ian was alive, but then only being full of anger afterward, which he still doesn't think makes too much sense.</p><p>"And it fucking sucks because I'm so afraid that if Ian and I get too close, if we touch each other in just the wrong way, all that shit will just be right there. Again. And I don't want it to. I don't want it to hurt when he touches me. Mentally or physically."</p><p>"Mickey." Maria leans in when he's done. "You went through a tremendous amount of physical and emotional pain right when you were coming to terms with your sexuality and also falling in love for the first time. All of that is enmeshed. It's all tangled together."</p><p>Mickey looks at her and sees her eyes full of compassion and it hits him in the chest.</p><p>"You were never allowed to feel your feelings. Any feelings other than the ones approved by your father—anger, lust, greed—were not allowed. Sadness, love, affection, grief. . .<em>none</em> of those were allowed. They were all met with violence, Mickey. You were programmed to associate all of those unapproved feelings with being hurt. Your reaction to Ian makes sense."</p><p>“I don’t want to be mad at him. I don’t want to get angry or scared when I think about touching him or him touching me. I don't want Terry having that control over me anymore."</p><p>"That makes sense. That's a good thing that you feel that way. And it means you are breaking down that narrative like we talked about last week. Do you think you can work with Ian on some of this?"</p><p>"Yeah. I know I can. He was the one that found me. I took the car but only made it to Starved Rock. We used to talk about going there when we were kids. Him and Rita-Mae. They came in her car. And she took the Chevelle back. He stayed with me all weekend. He helped me a lot. And there was...like touching, but not sexual."</p><p>"That's good. That's progress."</p><p>"Yeah and we worked on my plan. He went through it with me. Asked me to put him in my safety plan."</p><p>"That's really wonderful, Mickey."</p><p>"Yeah." Mickey nods and realizes it really is wonderful.</p><p>"Is that Ian sitting out in the waiting room right now?" Maria asks.</p><p>Mickey feels shy all of a sudden and just nods his head.</p><p>"How would you feel about him joining us for the last twenty minutes of session, so you two can tell me together how you've updated the plan? And I can give you suggestions. I wouldn't be giving him any information. Just hear from the two of you. And of course you can say 'no'."</p><p>"No—I mean yes," Mickey stutters. "Yes, I think that would be good."</p><p>"Great, I think that will be really productive." Maria smiles. "But before Ian comes in I want to process a little more about what happened Friday night."</p><p>"Okay." Mickey can't help but raise his eyebrows to an alarming height. He wasn't sure what more she wanted to know.</p><p>"How are you feeling about your actions that night?" Maria asks.</p><p>"Not great." He lets out a rushed breath. "I feel really shitty actually. Rita-Mae says that Willie won't fire me. She seems positive, but she insists I have to tell him. And that fucking sucks. I know none of them are gonna tell Larry, so I'm not going back to prison, but I could have. But that's not even why I'm upset. I really fucked up and now Audre probably hates me and will never talk to me again. She's the only real friend I've ever had. And I completely fucked that up." Mickey feels his eyes watering up again.</p><p>"Mickey, I don't know Audre, so I can't say what she will or won't do, but it won't do you any good to convince yourself of anything until you've talked to her."</p><p>"What's the point? She's gonna fuckin' hate me."</p><p>"You don't actually know what she's going to say. You're assuming what she's going to say based on how you feel about what you did, not how she feels."</p><p>Mickey realizes she's right and feels a little overwhelmed by what is truly unknown. </p><p>"I hate myself for doing this to her," Mickey finally says </p><p>"Do you know why I think that's progress?"</p><p>He looks up surprised.</p><p>"Because the Mickey that walked into my office almost a year ago was so angry, afraid, and defensive that he would never have been able to admit he did anything wrong much less admit to feeling bad about what he might have done to another person. That Mickey found it easier to be angry than to feel almost any other emotion."</p><p>"Other emotions are fuckin' scary." Mickey huffs out a little laugh.</p><p>"I think you've made tremendous progress, Mickey. And hopefully you can absorb that."</p><p>"Maybe. I don't know." But he knows she's right. <em> That </em> Mickey was so different than the one sitting in this office and it reminds him that he was having an identity crisis not even twenty-four hours before. Still is really.</p><p>"And, even though what you did was not okay, and things could have turned out far worse, you had a real breakthrough. And what sounds like progress with Ian."</p><p>Mickey nods his head. "Yeah."</p><p>"So, do you remember I asked you last week about what you want from your relationship with Ian?"</p><p>"Yeah."</p><p>"Do you think you have a better idea about what you want now?"</p><p>"I don't know. Kinda. I know I want him near me. I feel safer with him around, which is different. And I know I'm attracted to him, but I'm also afraid. I want us to be able to touch each other… sexually. I mean I think deep down I know I want us to be together. I think...no, I know that's been true. It's like there was just this big huge interruption. But we can't go back to how it was. It's not possible. And I don't really want it to be."</p><p>"You're right. You can't go back. You also have a lot of work still to do on yourself. And although it's good to have someone while you go through something like this, you need to remember that you have to do some of it on your own."</p><p>"Yeah. I think that Ian was trying to tell me something like that. He's pretty messed up too and he said he has to make sure he's okay before he can help me."</p><p>"It goes both ways. If Ian is not well, you have to remember to not sacrifice your emotional or mental well being to help him. If you feel you can't help him without doing that, you have to tell him and back off, but it sounds like he would understand that."</p><p>"Yeah. Okay."</p><p>"Do you have anything else you want to talk about before we bring Ian in?"</p><p>"Aren't we over our time?"</p><p>"We are, but I don't have another client until one and I think this is important."</p><p>"Thanks, Maria."</p><p>***</p><p>Mickey is nervous to bring Ian in at first, and the surprised look on Ian's face when Mickey asks him doesn’t help either, but as soon as they sit down in Maria's office, something about having Ian in the chair next to him fills Mickey with a sense of calm. Ian's own calm is helpful, and he is confident, which also helps settle any hesitation Mickey might have had.</p><p>Mickey introduces the two of them and it feels very formal, but Ian is charming and friendly and it lightens the atmosphere immediately.</p><p>"It's really nice to meet you, Maria," Ian says with his utmost congenial smile. "Seems like you've done some really great work. Mickey's plan is great."</p><p>"Okay, kiss ass. She's my therapist, you don't have to impress her." Mickey frowns, but is secretly pleased by Ian's little speech.</p><p>Ian rolls his eyes and grins. "Whatever, Mick."</p><p>"Ian, it's nice to meet you too." Maria, just like Ian, is unphased by Mickey's grouchy response. "And I agree that we have done some great work here, but Mickey gets credit for most of it."</p><p>"Yes, ma'am." Ian nods in agreement. </p><p>
  <em> Oh, brother. What's happening here?  </em>
</p><p>"So, I want to reiterate what I said to Mickey earlier. I am not doing therapy or disclosing information. You two are just going to go through the updates with me and we can see if there are any questions I can answer or any feedback I can give. Sound good?"</p><p>"Yeah, alright," Mickey says.</p><p>"Definitely," Ian adds.</p><p>"Wonderful. Let's get started." Maria claps her hands together in reply.</p><p>They go through the additions throughout the plan and then talk in detail about the safety plan. Maria doesn't seem to try to hide that she is impressed with Ian's knowledge and understanding, and also doesn't flinch when he says he has bipolar disorder and knows his way around a safety plan. She just nods and asks them to continue breaking down the different sections for her. </p><p>At the end of it, Maria tells Mickey how she's proud of the work he's done and glad that he's using the recovery plan as a living document like it's meant to be, and sends them on their way. </p><p>As they are walking out, Mickey turns to look at Ian and is caught off guard by the feeling he gets when he looks at him. Mickey is filled with warmth and something almost like contentment; so close to it, but not quite there. He holds his breath until Ian notices.</p><p>"What?" Ian chuckles.</p><p>"I don't know." Mickey is honest because he really doesn't know. He just knows it feels pretty good. "I guess I'm just glad you're with me." Mickey gets immediately embarrassed and looks down at the ground.</p><p>Ian doesn't give him shit like Mickey expects, he just gives Mickey a little nudge. "I'm glad I am too. Now let's get some food before we gotta go to the shop."</p><p>Mickey groans. "Fuck. Do we gotta go to the shop?"</p><p>"I know you aren't seriously asking me that," Ian says without looking at Mickey as they head out on their hunt for food.</p><p>"Fuck. Fine." Mickey doesn't care if he sounds like a petulant child, he doesn't look forward to his next task.</p><p>"I know you're dreading it, but you get it over with and you'll feel better. It'll be good. You'll see."</p><p>"Alright, Mary Sunshine, if you think it's gonna be so great then you talk to Willie for me."</p><p>"Nope. That's all you, Mick." Ian looks smug as he shoves his hands in his pockets.</p><p>"My god. You are so annoying. I changed my mind; I'm not glad you're with me anymore."</p><p>"Yeah, you are." The smugness seemed to magnify, but Ian is right, Mickey is still glad Ian is with him, and he can't imagine that changing now.</p><p>***</p><p>Mickey had known he wasn’t going to be able to continue to ignore Willie even before the incident on Friday. He had known it wasn’t practical, but he also knew that deep down he hadn't wanted to. Whether he could admit it out loud or not, Willie meant a lot to him and he was missing him. Forgiveness doesn’t come easy and Mickey isn’t sure how to do it, especially when he isn’t sure what he is forgiving him for, but he knows he is going to have to try. </p><p>Of course, now he is also going to be the one needing forgiveness and that just confuses things even more.</p><p>The office door is closed, but Mickey knows that Willie is in there. He isn’t sure how to approach any of it, but he wants to—even though he has been trying to avoid confrontation and deep conversation. And, really, he had to because he has to at least tell Willie what he did. Rita-Mae was right, Willie isn't stupid and he would figure out that something was up, especially because the Chevelle was missing from the shop and he had been granted yet another sick day.</p><p>Mickey knows he has to bite the bullet and he takes a deep breath and finally knocks on the door to the office.</p><p>"Come in," Willie calls from the other side of the door, and Mickey opens it and lets himself in. </p><p>"Well." Willie sits back in his chair. "This is a surprise. Come in."</p><p>Mickey complies and closes the door behind him. "Can I sit and talk to you?" he asks.</p><p>"Yeah, I'd like that, Mickey. Sit down." Willie gestures to a chair.</p><p>Mickey sits down and runs his palms down his jeans while he chews on his bottom lip. </p><p>“Ana couldn’t stop talking about you after you left our house last Sunday. And she was convinced I had done something to you.” Mickey looks up at the man across from him and sees that he looks sad.</p><p>“You didn’t do anything to me,” Mickey says quietly.</p><p>“Well, I let you down. I disappointed you. I wasn’t sensitive to your feelings,” Willie says.</p><p>“You didn’t know how I was going to feel.” Mickey is feeling the weight of more than the guilt he walked in here with. </p><p>“Well, I should have thought about how one of my kids would have felt. And that should have given me a clue,” Willie says frankly, and Mickey looks at him, searching the other man's eyes, and he realizes he wants to cry. “Mickey, I thought a lot about what you had said, and I wasn't being fair to anyone. So I told Ana about Ian and how I acted, flirting with the boy, coming on to him until it was obvious that I was being a fool.”</p><p>Mickey is shocked. “You did?”</p><p>“Yeah." Willie nods. "Look, she and I are best friends. We’re partners in our family and in business, but we haven’t been together like a married couple for many, many years." Mickey flinches slightly, feeling like the conversation is too personal. </p><p>"She’s known about me for a long time. The only thing she ever asked was that I kept my private life private. Not because she's homophobic, but because she doesn't feel like there's room in our relationship—in our partnership—for another person. And she also didn't want the instability of people coming and going from our lives. It made sense for a long time and I was okay with it, but it gets harder and harder all the time. Well, 'cos I get lonely." Willie scratches the back of his head, a small hint of color forming on his cheeks. "I promised her over a year ago I was gonna keep it out of the shop too. And I didn’t. I embarrassed her. I embarrassed myself. And I hurt you. Which she is probably more angry about than anything else."</p><p>All of this information is huge and Mickey's brain is spinning. </p><p>"I’ve apologized to Ian. And I’m sorry, Mickey. I would like you to forgive me, but I would understand if it would take time." Willie's expression is sad, but hopeful, and Mickey isn't sure how to react. </p><p>"There's something else. Ana and I both agree that this isn't all about me and my bullshit. And you may not be ready to talk about it yet, and that’s fine, but she and I are both pretty understanding people. Non-judgemental. You can tell us anything, Mickey."</p><p>This was a lot to take in, and it felt like Willie was hinting at them knowing he is gay. Maybe he <em> could </em> talk to Ana and Willie about all of it. About Ian, about being gay, about what happened in their past. But he just isn't sure. He feels settled just knowing that him and Willie are going to get past this and he is going to be able to be around him and the rest of the family again without feeling hostile or awkward.</p><p>"That's...a lot, man." Mickey isn't sure what else to say, but feels grateful for the other man and his ability to see his mistakes. </p><p>"I know, Mickey."</p><p>"Willie, I do forgive you. Okay? I'm not mad anymore. I know nothing happened and you’re right. There are other things, but...I don't know…"</p><p>Then Mickey remembers what he was sent in here to do and he thinks it's kinda ridiculous that he is the one forgiving Willie. And he wonders if Willie is going to be able to forgive him. </p><p>"There's something I need to tell you. It doesn't have to do with any of this." Mickey is getting nervous and starts to pick at the skin in his nails.</p><p>"What is, Mick?" Willie leans forward with a furrowed brow, looking concerned. "You can tell me anything, my boy."</p><p>"Well, I guess in a way it does have to do with this. I don’t know.” Mickey shakes his head, trying to figure out the best place to start, but not being sure where. <em> Maybe now is the time to tell him about Ian, about being gay. Because otherwise it is going to be hard to explain taking the Chevelle and betraying everyone’s trust. </em>Mickey thinks.</p><p>“Mickey.” Willie leans forward even more, forcing Mickey to make eye contact with him, “You can tell me <em> anything</em>. I mean that.”</p><p>“I’m not sure where to start, but I know you know I’ve been having a hard time lately.” Mickey sees Willie nod and continues. “Well, see Ian and I have a past together. And shit happened to us...my father...ugh.” Mickey can’t seem to get it out, the words are stuck and all twisted in his brain.</p><p>“Were you together, Mickey?” Willie asks in a matter of fact way, but it still jars Mickey a little.</p><p>“Uh...yeah. You can say that. When we were kids. Teenagers.” Mickey nods and feels pressure behind his eyes, but he vows to himself that he isn’t going to cry for the second time today and especially not in front of Willie.</p><p>“Mickey, you don’t need to be embarrassed about being gay or being with Ian,” Willie says and he is silent for a moment. “I figured something was going on with the two of you, that there was history, after Ian told me I was barking up the wrong tree. And, honestly, I felt a little played, but at the same time I can’t blame him. You guys are fucked up kids and I’m a stupid old man. I wanted to see something there that wasn’t. I figured out that Ian was here because of you and that he was probably doing what he could to be close to you, and doing it the only way he probably knew how. It all became pretty fucking obvious.”</p><p>“What?” Mickey can feel his eyes grow wide and his mouth dry. “Does everyone know?”</p><p>“Calm down, Mick.” Willie sits back and frowns. “First of all, I doubt it, but second, no one would fucking care.” Willie waves it off. “But, hey, it’s up to you to decide who knows what. People can speculate all they want, but what you tell people is up to you.”</p><p>Mickey lets out a quick breath and crosses his arms in front of him. “Yeah, alright.”</p><p>“That can’t be all this is about,” Willie says.</p><p>Mickey snaps back to reality once again and shakes his head. “It’s not. This is hard to say, man. I’m not even sure what to tell you and what not to tell you. Or how to tell you.”</p><p>“Tell me what you can.” Willie’s expression is filled with compassion and Mickey sees how much Willie genuinely cares for him.</p><p>“Willie, I really fucked up.” Mickey’s voice cracks and he feels his stomach clench with anxiety and fear. And shame.</p><p>“What happened, Mickey?” Willie sits forward again looking slightly alarmed.</p><p>“I fucked up so bad.” Mickey shakes his head and looks down at his hands. Willie doesn’t say anything, letting Mickey use the empty space in their conversation to formulate his thoughts. “Ian and I went through something really fucked up when we were together. Something really really really bad and we were separated for years because of it...because of my dad.” Mickey takes a deep breath trying to get his emotions under control.</p><p>“And him being back here just kept bringing shit up that I had forgotten or like buried.” Mickey looks up to see Willie listening intently with a look of concern on his face. “And I’ve been having anxiety attacks and like blacking out and having flashbacks.”</p><p>Mickey pauses, hoping Willie understands without him having to explain what all of those things are.</p><p>Willie seems to be able to read Mickey’s face and goes to reassure him. “Go on, Mickey. It’s okay,” Willie tells him.</p><p>“So, uh, we’ve been doing good and getting along and things were better, but then Friday night things just went to shit and something happened between us that made all this shit flood into my mind that I had forgotten. Like all of it. Stuff I had completely stuffed away.” </p><p>Mickey looks at the ceiling, not wanting to confess what happened next, but knowing there is no way out of it. “I lost my fucking mind, Willie. I lost my shit and I…I didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t even realize what I had done until I had been driving for a while.”</p><p>“Mickey, what did you do?” Willie asks calmly.</p><p>Mickey looks down, and looks directly in Willie’s eyes. “I took the Chevelle and tried to split town.” Mickey is surprised by how calm his voice is when he says this and he waits for a reaction from Willie, who doesn’t flinch or really give away any emotion.</p><p>Willie nods his head. “Where is it now?” Willie asks.</p><p>“I think Audre has it. I didn't hurt it.” Mickey tells him. “Ian and Rita-Mae came looking for me and when I realized what I had done I stopped and tried to figure out what to do. But Ian found me. Kinda guessed where I'd be.”</p><p>Willie sits back and puts his hands in his lap, still expressionless, completely poker faced. </p><p>“I know it was wrong, and I swear I’ll never do anything like that again. I saw my therapist this morning and Ian’s been helping me. I’m sorry, Willie. I’m really, really sorry.” Mickey is out of words and he looks at the floor unable to hold the other man’s gaze any longer.</p><p>There is a long silence and it starts to make Mickey feel itchy, not knowing what is coming next. He hears Willie shift in his seat and clear his throat, so he braces for the worst.</p><p>“Mickey, look at me,” Willie directs him, and Mickey looks up. “What you did was stupid and reckless, but I also understand fight or flight and something happened that made you think you needed to run. But you stopped yourself. You realized what you had done was wrong. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t upset, but I’m honestly more worried about you than anything else.”</p><p>Mickey lets out a stuttered breath and nods his head. Willie has a good reason to be worried. Shit, who isn’t worried about him? <em> This fucking sucks. </em></p><p>“Also, that is unfortunately not even in the top ten stupid and reckless stunts pulled by someone around here, and I’m on that list.” It sounds like a joke, but Mickey sees that Willie isn't laughing, so he knows it’s serious. “Look, I have to talk to Audre and see what she wants to do about the car, and we're going to have to make a few new rules until we know we can trust you again. Like you can’t have access to any keys before or after work. Everything stays locked up in the office. Okay?”</p><p>“Yeah, makes sense.” Mickey hates it, but he knows he would do the same thing.</p><p>“And I expect you to make it to therapy every week.”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>“This next thing I’m going to tell you is the most important thing, Mickey, so listen up.” Willie wheels his chair closer to Mickey and puts a heavy hand on Mickey’s shoulder. “There is always a place for you here. You belong here. You have family with me and Ana, and you have a family here with Rita-Mae, Enzo, and Damon. And Ian. We’re your family, Mickey. I know sometimes that is hard for you to hear.”</p><p>“Family hasn’t always been the best word.” Mickey is honest and he feels pressure growing in his chest. “It always led to me having some obligation that got me in trouble or just fucked me up. I don’t know how to be in a family that doesn’t. . .” </p><p>“Hurt you?” Willie offers and it startles Mickey at first. </p><p>“Yeah. . .” </p><p>“Well, you’re learning whether you realize it or not. I know I haven’t been here for you lately, but I’m here now, Mickey, and you have to talk to me when something is going on. That is the most important thing—that you reach out to your family. I know I still got shit to figure out. I’m not perfect and I don’t expect you to be either. But we’re gonna get through all of this together. Okay?” Willie offers a smile and Mickey can’t help but smile back and he feels some of the pressure release from inside of him.</p><p>“I tell you what though, you got two more things you need to do,” Willie tells him.</p><p>Mickey can’t help but groan and he’s embarrassed when he hears it come out of his throat. “What?”</p><p>Willie removes his hand and wheels backwards. “You need to talk to Audre yourself because she’s your friend and you owe it to her.”</p><p>“Yeah, I know,” Mickey whispers.</p><p>“And you need to figure your shit out with that freckle-faced arsonist out there. He honestly cares about you. Been walking around her like a fucking puppy dog. It’s kinda pathetic.” </p><p>Mickey snorts a laugh. “Yeah.” </p><p>“Okay?” </p><p>“Yeah, okay. I’m trying to figure it out, Willie. <em> We’re </em> trying.” </p><p>“Okay. And if you need time you just gotta tell me. We need you around for the long haul, huh?” Willie stands up, and Mickey does as well.</p><p>“Yeah, okay.” Mickey gives a half smile.</p><p>“Good.” Willie grabs Mickey by the neck and pulls him in for a fatherly hug that Mickey accepts willingly. Willie pushes him away gently with a huge smile. “Now get the fuck out of here. I got work to do.”</p><p>Mickey walks out of the office and heads back to his room, successfully avoiding eye contact with everyone else in the shop who are all busy working. His conversation with Willie was a surprise and not at all what he expected walking in there. Yes, it is kinda heavy, but not as overwhelming as he thought. Mickey isn’t sure how to process it and he decides he doesn't need to think about it right now because at the moment all he needs to know and understand is that things with them were going to be okay, and that he still has a place there, in the shop and in the family.</p><p>***</p><p>Ian is waiting for him when he gets back to his room. Mickey finds him curled up on Mickey’s bed reading some paperback novel he brought with him. Ian sits up immediately almost looking embarrassed.</p><p>“Hey, sorry. I…” Ian starts to stutter and Mickey is overwhelmed by emotion at that moment. Emotion and affection and who knows what else. He walks up to Ian and grabs him by the shoulders, pulling him off the bed. “Wha—” Ian sounds startled by the sudden movement.</p><p>Mickey reaches up and throws his arms around Ian’s neck and plants himself under Ian’s chin. Ian only hesitates for a split second and then wraps his arms around Mickey’s waist, nuzzling the top of Mickey’s head. Mickey holds Ian tightly and presses his body against him. He feels so warm and solid, and Mickey feels himself wanting to fuse with him, wanting to be part of the other man. It isn’t necessarily sexual, but it’s not platonic, and Mickey’s mind isn’t really thinking, he is only feeling. And it feels <em> fucking good </em>.</p><p>Ian lets out a long breathy sigh like he had been holding it all in and Mickey’s embrace pushed it out of him. Ian tightens his grip on Mickey and kisses the top of his head. Mickey doesn’t flinch or try to pull away. Instead he pushes himself harder into Ian, feeling himself start to vibrate and pulse</p><p>“Mickey,” Ian whispers, “Are you okay?”</p><p>“Yeah.” Mickey feels like his voice sounds foreign and it confuses him for a minute. “I’m good, Ian,” he says, his mouth against Ian’s neck. Mickey can feel his hot breath rolling back in his face and he feels safe and like he never wants to leave their embrace</p><p>Ian doesn’t say anything more, he just continues to hold Mickey. Neither of them know how long they stay like that, and at one point Ian dips his head down to Mickey’s neck and inhales him deeply. The action feels familiar, and it is intimate, but not obtrusive, and Mickey thinks that if they had held on to each other like this just a few days before he would have spun out into darkness. </p><p>Everything around them was melting away and all he could feel was Ian—his breath, his chest hair, his skin, and abdominal muscles. He could only feel his sharp chin and his vice-like arms, the nape of Ian’s neck and the sinui muscles around it. Mickey could only feel Ian’s heartbeat and his strong, thick thighs pressing against Mickey’s pelvis. And he knew right then what he wanted. He wanted Ian. And he wanted to try everything he could to make sure that he could get to the point where he could have him in his life in every way possible. Without fear. Without interruption. Without hesitation.</p><p>Mickey finally releases his grip, but continues to hold Ian, and Ian follows his lead. Mickey pulls back and looks at him. “Hey,” Mickey finally says.</p><p>“Hey yourself,” Ian says, a look of wonder on his face.</p><p>Mickey runs his hands down from Ian’s neck and across his shoulders, admiring the broadness of them, admiring their strength.</p><p>“You okay?” Ian asks again.</p><p>“Yeah, I’m good.” Mickey nods and gives a reassuring smile. “I just…” Mickey stares into Ian’s puppy dog eyes for a beat. “I know I have a lot of work to do. And you said yourself, you gotta lotta work to do too…”</p><p>Ian just bobs his head in agreement.</p><p>“But, I think that <em> we </em>,” Mickey gestures between the two of them, “have a lot of work to do. And I want to get there. I want to figure out how to get there.” Mickey runs his hands down Ian’s chest and then back up, squeezing the trap muscles on either side of Ian’s neck. Ian responds by pulling Mickey against him again and spreading his large palms across Mickey’s back.</p><p>“Yeah, I’d like that,” Ian tells him, tilting his head to the side and looking down at Mickey with hearts in his eyes.</p><p>Mickey lays his head back against Ian’s chest and Ian bends down and kisses the top of Mickey’s head again, which sends tingles down Mickey’s spine and causes him to feel a twitch below his belt, so he pulls away, knowing he isn’t ready for anything that goes beyond that. Ian lets him go and sits back on the bed, Mickey sitting by his side. Ian reaches for Mickey’s hand and he gives it to him readily.</p><p>“Mickey.” Ian sounds cautious, “I really need to go home. Seems like things went okay with Willie and we both need to go to work tomorrow. I haven’t really been home in days.”</p><p>Mickey understands, but he would be lying if he said he isn’t afraid for Ian to leave. </p><p>“You’re right. You gotta go. I get it.” Mickey starts to release Ian’s hand, but Ian grips it tighter.</p><p>“But we can hang out for a little bit,” Ian says quickly. “We can go get dinner or make something here and watch something on our phones. I don’t have to go yet. Whatever you want to do.” </p><p>Whatever he wants to do. What is that, exactly? He isn’t sure. Mickey feels like he doesn’t want Ian to leave. But he also knows that he needs to fly solo at some point and that  Ian needs to get back to his own life. So, then what does he want in that short period of time they have left today? It shouldn’t be hard to figure out, but like everything else, it kinda is.</p><p>“Let’s go eat,” Mickey decides. “And then maybe I’ll head back to the old neighborhood with you and I might...eh...talk to Iggy.”</p><p>“Yeah?” Ian’s eyebrows raise and he seems surprised.</p><p>“Yeah, maybe. I don’t know.” Mickey shrugs, not sure if he will actually be able to talk to Iggy or not. “But I’ll head that way with you anyway. Get some exercise.” Mickey puts on his best smile and Ian squeezes his hand affectionately. </p><p>“Sounds good.” Ian tells him and laces his fingers with Mickey’s.</p><p>They sit there for a while, admiring each other, looking at each other’s eyes and hair and facial expressions. Ian gives Mickey a devilish grin when he sees Mickey catch him get lost on his lips, but then turns away shyly for a moment. Mickey nudges him with his shoulder and they both chuckle, feeling vulnerable and somehow so young. But they are young—emotionally they are very young, and Mickey remembers Maria explaining that to him, so he figures it must be true for Ian too. They were stunted and fucked up and emotionally immature—maybe Mickey more than Ian. He isn’t sure. But they found each other again and he is going to make damn sure that he does everything he can to not lose Ian this time, no matter how much it hurts or how hard it is. They are going to get through this, sometimes separate, but as much together as they possibly can. Mickey lets out a sweet little sigh at the thought of it and then, without thinking about it, rests his head on Ian’s shoulder, who then rests his head on Mickey.</p><p>***</p><p>Tuesday morning Mickey wakes up to the sound of his alarm. Without thinking about it he reaches back behind him, but Ian isn’t there. He is disoriented for a minute and then remembers that the redhead had stayed in his own bed that night. Mickey marvels at how quickly he had become accustomed to sharing his bed with the other man, how quickly he had become his security blanket. Mickey fights through the momentary disappointment and sits up in bed. </p><p>Mickey has to get through his morning routine and get down to the garage floor. He has to try to do everything he can to go through the motions and try to have as close to a normal day as possible. Mickey feels the flutter in his stomach and the tightening of his chest that threatens to become anxiety, but he takes deep breaths and practices what he has been taught in order to relax his muscles and breath normally. </p><p>
  <em> You can do this. It’s gonna be okay. </em>
</p><p>Mickey hates to admit it, but he feels somewhat more relaxed by the fact that he knows he’ll see Ian soon, and remembers that Ian had texted right before bed and offered to come up and see him before work started. Mickey busies himself, getting ready and trying to stay present, but he finds he keeps reflecting back on the day before, and pausing his actions. </p><p>He is relieved that he had talked to Willie and didn’t see how it could have gone any better. And although he is still kind of surprised by his actions afterward with Ian, he doesn’t regret them. </p><p>After sitting together for an undetermined amount of time, they had gone to dinner, Ian convincing Mickey to try a Mexican place he had never been to. Mickey caught himself turning his nose up at the food, and he realized he had gotten spoiled by Ana’s cooking and he was  probably being overly critical. Ian only laughed at him and told him he could pick where they went next time. Mickey had smiled to himself, the words “next time” filling him with a glow he almost found embarrassing. </p><p>Even though Mickey could not reach Iggy, and didn’t want to just show up at the Milkovich house unannounced, he had still walked back to the old neighborhood with Ian. He ended up walking Ian all the way back to the Gallagher home, which caught Ian off guard.</p><p>“Aren’t you gonna go see Ig?” Ian asked Mickey when it was obvious they were not parting ways.</p><p>“Naw.” Mickey shook his head and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I couldn’t reach him.”</p><p>Ian stopped in his tracks and smiled like a big dope. “Mickey, are you walking me home?” </p><p>“Oh, my god. You need to shut the fuck up and keep walking or I’m leaving right now.” Mickey’s words were harsh, and his cheeks were reddening, but he couldn’t stop smiling.</p><p>Mickey declined the emphatic invitation into the Gallagher house, insisting he wasn’t ready for all that chaos. Ian only laughed and nodded, seeming to understand. </p><p>There was an awkward moment between them, but Mickey finally reached a hand out and took Ian’s in his and said, “Thanks, man.”</p><p>Ian squeezed his hand back and gave him a crooked smile. “You don’t have to thank me, Mickey. We’re in this together.”</p><p>Mickey nodded and bit his bottom lip, feeling bashful, but also pretty lucky to have Ian in front of him.</p><p>Mickey feels a little dazed when he thinks about Ian, who will be in his room soon. <em> What the fuck is wrong with me? Why am I all of a sudden some lovesick dog? Please. </em> But maybe he is. And maybe that is okay. He can’t be sure yet, but he is getting closer to knowing the answer to that and several other questions.</p><p>There is a rap at the door just as Mickey is finishing up his morning routine minus the pop tart and coffee because Ian had promised him breakfast. He smooths his hair back one more time and opens the door to a bright and shiny ginger holding up a white paper bag and two cups of coffee.</p><p>“Good morning,” Ian exclaims.</p><p>“Whoa, too cheery for this time of morning, Gallagher,” Mickey jokes and turns around to let Ian walk in.</p><p>“Oh, I’ve been downgraded to Gallagher again?” Ian sounds like he is disappointed, but trying to act like he’s being playful.</p><p>“You’re Gallagher until I’ve had my morning coffee.” That makes Ian laugh and Mickey feels relieved.</p><p>Ian presents Mickey his coffee and hands him the bag.</p><p>“What’s this?” Mickey asks.</p><p>“There’s a ham and cheese croissant and a chocolate croissant. Both yours if you want them.”</p><p>“Croissants?” Mickey rears back and looks in the bag, the smell of the pastries filling his nose. “Aren’t we fancy now?”</p><p>“Whatever,” Ian laughs, “I got them at the fancy coffee shop on the other side of the park. Shit smelled so good I ate mine already.”</p><p>“Yeah.” Mickey takes a huge bite of one of the pastries, talking with a mouth full of food. “That place has awesome sweets.”</p><p>Ian goes quiet and it takes Mickey a few minutes to realize it. He looks up and sees Ian with a goofy smile on his face, eyes wide. “What?” Mickey asks him, truly clueless.</p><p>“That’s the fancy coffee shop you’ve been to?” Ian starts laughing.</p><p>“Fuck you, you’re so annoying.” Mickey swallows and plops down on the bed, but the more Ian laughs the harder it is for Mickey not to laugh too. “Just sit down and shut up, you fuckin’ dork.”</p><p>Ian sits down next to him with a toothy grin. “So, what’s the plan today?” Ian asks, sipping his coffee.</p><p>Mickey chugs some of his coffee, which is the perfect temperature for doing that, and looks over at Ian. “Whaddya mean?”</p><p>“Mickey, you know what I mean. What we talked about at dinner last night.”</p><p>“Yeah, alright.” Mickey sighs and drops his shoulders. “I’m gonna practice deep breathing and mindfulness shit. And if I need to take a break I’ll take a break. And if I start to get intrusive thoughts and nothing is working, I’ll ask for help.”</p><p>“Perfect.” Ian nods his approval and Mickey can’t help but feels some satisfaction at Ian’s reaction.</p><p>“So, Ian, what about you?” Mickey asks him. “How are you?” The night before Mickey had been laying in bed after they had briefly texted and he realized that he hadn’t once checked in with Ian to see how he was or how he was feeling. Afterall, Ian had been through a lot that weekend, worrying about Mickey, searching for him, taking care of him, and he had had to listen to Mickey recount some of the traumatic events they both had experienced. And Ian had been strong through all of it. Strong for Mickey. Strong for both of them. So, Mickey feels like he really needs to know how Ian is.</p><p>Ian’s eyes get bigger and he sits back. “Oh, well, uh...I guess I’m okay.”</p><p>“You’re not sure?” Mickey asks, starting to feel concerned.</p><p>Ian’s face drops a little and he shifts his gaze to the floor and then back to Mickey. “I honestly haven’t stopped to think about how I’m doing, and maybe that isn’t good.”</p><p>“I don’t know much about bipolar disorder, Ian, but I would bet it probably isn’t. I don’t want to be the reason you get sick.”</p><p>“Mickey,” Ian starts. “If i get sick it isn’t because of you. It’s because of my illness and because I’m not doing what I know I need to do to take care of myself.”</p><p>“But I want you to take care of yourself, Ian. And…” Mickey looks away, not sure how to say what he wants to say. He looks back at Ian, looks him directly in his eyes that were catching stray light coming in through the window—emerald green to jade to teal. “...And if I’m more of a distraction—”</p><p>“You’re not,” Ian interrupts.</p><p>“Maybe I am a little if you’re worried about taking care of me and about what I need.” Mickey tells him. “But things are getting better. And maybe I can help take care of you too.” He says the last part above a whisper.</p><p>“Mickey, you don’t have to do that.”</p><p>“Well, maybe it’s what I want to do.” Mickey gives him a challenging look. “You got a problem with that?” </p><p>Ian laughs. “No, I don’t. As long as you aren’t ignoring yourself for me.”</p><p>“Seems like we want the same thing,” Mickey tells Ian, who nods at him. “As long as we’re not ignoring ourselves and just focusing on the other person…”</p><p>“And we’re checking in with each other to make sure the other one is doing what they need to do for themselves…”</p><p>“Then maybe we’ll be okay?” Mickey makes the statement, but also poses it as a question.</p><p>“Yeah, I mean all we can do is try.” Ian smiles and shrugs, then he runs his hand across Mickey’s back and wraps his arm around his shoulders, his face close to the side of Mickey’s head, but not too close to feel intrusive. “And, yeah, I think we’re gonna be okay.”</p><p>Mickey lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and leans into Ian’s embrace, feeling his strong bicep and forearm holding him in place. Mickey feels protected and also like they have overcome another hurdle, acknowledging to each other that they both need to be taken care of to a certain extent and that they both want to take care of each other. Mickey feels in that moment that they have crossed a bridge and that they have become more than friends, but they still have a ways to go. Mickey wants more. He knows he does, and he believes he will be ready soon.</p><p>They sit a little longer in silence, drinking coffee and thinking quietly to themselves. Mickey can feel Ian smiling and he feels a sense of satisfaction and a feeling of calm wash over him. They hear Rita-Mae roll up the garage door and Ian leans back and squeezes the back of Mickey’s neck affectionately.</p><p>“You good?” Ian asks.</p><p>“Yeah, I’m good,” Mickey says and he means it.</p><p>***</p><p>Mickey is taking a smoke break. He hadn’t gotten overwhelmed and had managed to jump into work without a hiccup. Rita-Mae had acted like nothing had happened, but he wasn’t really surprised by that. He expected she would maintain her usual demeanor until she felt like talking to him. It definitely made it easier to get into work, which made him feel as close to normal as he was going to get. </p><p>Having Ian close by was also really nice, but he had to focus on not getting distracted by his presence. Mickey caught himself more than once staring at Ian when the other man wasn’t paying attention, but having to look away before he was caught. Part of him wanted to be back up in his room being embraced by Ian, but the other part of him was also so grateful to be working, something he knows now that he just can’t live without.</p><p>Mickey sits down on one of the hard metal chairs that someone has set out in the alley and he inhales smoke deep in his lungs. He leans back, enjoying the feeling of sun warming his skin, soaking him with vitamin D as Ian would say.</p><p>“Milkovich.” Rita-Mae sits down next to him unexpectedly. </p><p><em> Oh, shit. </em> </p><p>Mickey sits up immediately. “Hey, Boss. You, uh, want a cigarette?”</p><p>“No, I’m tryin’ to quit,” she tells him, kicking her legs in front of her and crossing her arms.</p><p>“You—you’re what?” Mickey swivels around to look at her.</p><p>“Yeah, I’m gonna try to quit.” Rita-Mae shrugs. “It’s about time. I’m not getting any younger and I feel like maybe trying to add a few years back on to my life if I can.”</p><p>Mickey nods, but is still surprised and he wonders if it has anything to do with Audre.</p><p>“I’m glad you talked to Willie.” Rita-Mae tells him without looking at him. “I’m proud of you. It took a lot of guts. And it seems like you guys maybe worked out whatever other weird shit you had going on too.”</p><p>She looks over at him and he signals agreement.</p><p>“That’s good.” Rita-Mae slaps her knees and turns to look at him. “He cares a lot about you Mickey and I know you care about him. You can earn back his trust. I know because I was able to.”</p><p>“You?” Mickey asks.</p><p>“I’m not gonna go into detail, but you know I was younger than you when I started working with Willie and probably a little stupider. Definitely angrier, believe it or not.”</p><p>“Angrier?” Mickey’s eyebrows shoot up.</p><p>“Yeah, I know, sounds crazy right?” She scoffs, but shows a genuine smile, closed mouth, but a smile nonetheless.</p><p>“I fucked up, big time and thought that was the end. Was convinced. No one had ever given me a break before Willie and I certainly didn’t expect a second chance, but he did. He let me prove myself to him, gave me a second chance, and I worked hard to make sure he knew I was worth it. Are you worth it, Mickey? Are you worth a second chance?”</p><p>“I—” The words are caught in his throat, the question taking him by surprise. “I think so. I hope so,” he finally says.</p><p>“I hope so too because you have more than Willie that cares about you, that believes in you, and you need to prove to all of us that we are right to believe in you and give you a second chance.”</p><p>“All of us?” Mickey whispers, his mouth dry and face turning red.</p><p>“Yeah, all of us, you big idiot.” She grimaces and shakes her head. “Willie, Ana, Ian...me. And you know who else.”</p><p>“Audre?” Mickey asks cautiously, not at all sure that is who she means.</p><p>“Fuck, you are so thick sometimes.” Rita-Mae puffs out her cheeks and rolls her eyes. “Yes, Audre.”</p><p>“How can she not fuckin’ hate me after what I did though?” Mickey asks.</p><p>Rita-Mae turns around even more, so she can look directly in Mickey’s wide blue eyes. “Mickey, you know what the first thing Audre said when Ian called to tell us you were missing with the car?”</p><p>Mickey shakes his head, feeling both intimidated and mesmerized by her intensity.</p><p>“She didn't curse your name or cry about where the car was. The first thing she said was that she hoped you were okay. She was worried about you. She's your fucking friend and she loves you.”</p><p>Mickey sucks in air and is holding it inside, feeling so overwhelmed by what she is saying as it clashes with the narrative he had created in his head over the last few days.</p><p>“That was a fucked up thing you did, but she cares so much about you that your mental health and well being was all she was worried about. Not her car. Not about what you had done to her. She was worried about you.” Rita-Mae pushes her index finger into his shoulder, waking him up, bringing him to the present.</p><p>“Do you understand what I’m saying?” she asks him, and he nods, still unable to speak. “You need to go fuckin' talk to her, Mickey.” </p><p>“Yeah,” Mickey says with a stunned expression on his face. “Okay. I will.”</p><p>“You better.” Rita-Mae stands and she is suddenly towering over him, and she is so intimidating he swallows hard around the lump that has formed in his throat. “Or I swear to God I will kick your ass.” With that she leaves the alley and heads back into the garage.</p><p>Mickey is left stunned and tingling. The brief conversation was a lot of information and somewhat overwhelming. He runs his feet back and forth across the rocky and chipped up pavement, feeling the texture through his shoes and hearing the scraping sounds of the rocks. It grounds him for the moment and gives him a chance to think about what he needs to do and how he needs to do it. He isn’t sure he is ready to talk to Audre, but he knows he has to at least take the first step.</p><p>***</p><p>After work, Ian agrees to come up for a beer, but  he has to take off right after because they are having a Gallagher family dinner and he doesn’t feel like getting shit again since he missed that last one. Mickey understands more than he can explain without getting into detail about Ana, and also feels like it’s time that they spend a little more time apart. He doesn’t really want to, but he has spent very little time alone over the last few days and knows that he has to work on himself and be able to fly solo. </p><p>Ian leaves after a lingering hug, that neither of them seem to want to end, and bashful glances at one another that cause them both to blush. </p><p><em> Fuck, what are we, ten year old girls? </em> Mickey grouses to himself, but he secretly loves it. Loves the warmth of it and the innocence and the complete silliness surrounding their undefined schoolyard relationship.</p><p>After Ian leaves, Mickey feels like he really has to try to reach out to Audre. He is afraid, but he also hears Rita-Mae’s voice in his head telling him that Audre loves him and cares about him and that he needs to contact her.</p><p>He does some deep breathing to try to relax his anxiety and then settles on texting her first.</p><p><b>Mickey</b>:  Audre, it’s Mickey.</p><p><b>Mickey</b>:  Of course you know it’s me. That’s stupid.</p><p><b>Mickey</b>:  I’m not sure what to say right now except I’m really sorry, which I know isn’t enough. We probably need to talk in person.</p><p><b>Mickey</b>:  Can we meet sometime this week?</p><p>Mickey lets air out from his lungs and sets the phone down, determined to focus on his breathing once again, but he hears the ding of a message coming in and all the air sucks back into his lungs.</p><p><em> Fuck </em>.</p><p>Mickey sees that it's Audre and he almost doesn’t want to read what she has written, but knows it makes no sense to avoid it.</p><p><b>Audre</b>:  What are you doing in like an hour?</p><p><em> An hour! </em> Mickey feels panic rising. He didn’t expect her to want to talk to him so soon, but he also feels like getting it all over with makes the most sense. There is some small relief in his panic.</p><p><b>Mickey</b>:  I don’t have plans.</p><p><b>Audre</b>:  Meet me at my spot?</p><p><b>Mickey</b>:  Sounds good.</p><p>Mickey feels his fingers going numb and he is trying not to freak out, but he is afraid despite Rita-Mae’s reassurance. </p><p>
  <em> Fuck. One hour. Alright. Let’s get going then. </em>
</p><p>Mickey cleans up as best as he can and straightens up his small space before heading out to meet up with the woman he hopes will be his friend again someday.</p><p>***</p><p>Audre’s sitting there, leaning on the bar nursing a rocks glass with what he is assuming is whiskey. <em> The woman loves her whiskey. </em> Mickey walks in and it’s the bartender that alerts her to his presence. </p><p>“Whiskey, beer back, son?” the bartender rasps out.</p><p>"Yeah, thanks.” Mickey nods and settles onto the barstool next to Audre.</p><p>He feels his face grow hot and he starts to squirm because she doesn’t say anything to him or turn around to look at him right away.</p><p>It’s as if Audre can sense how he is feeling she lets a slow breathe out through her nostrils. “I’m not trying to ignore you; I’m just not sure what to say.” Mickey feels stunned because he has never known Audre not to know what to say, and the moment doesn’t feel real.</p><p>“I'm sorry,” Mickey says quietly, wanting to cry as he spins the shot glass around slowly on the bar.</p><p>“I'm sorry too,” Audre says and finally looks at him.</p><p>“Why are you sorry?” he asks, confused.</p><p>“Sorry because you’ve been going through something and I didn’t realize how serious it was.”</p><p>“Audre, you couldn’t have done anything to stop what happened.” Mickey throws the shot back, coughing slightly as the warm liquid shocks his throat.</p><p>“What did happen?” Audre looks sad and he hates himself because he knows he put that look on her face.</p><p>“I don’t know…” Mickey looks down into his empty shot glass and raises it up to show the bartender, signaling for another.</p><p>“Well, you weren't in a fugue state, so you have to be able to tell me something.” Audre is now frowning.</p><p>“What's a fu—what?” Mickey scrunches up his face.</p><p>Audre gives him some side eye. “Doesn't matter what it is, you weren't in one.”</p><p>“Ugh.” Mickey sits back heavy and shakes his head. “Our history...that Ian and I have?” He looks over at Audre who nods for him to go on. “Well, it’s got some pretty fucked up stuff attached to it. Some...traumatic stuff. Stuff I couldn’t remember all of. And then Friday night something happened between me and Ian that just set all that shit loose.” Mickey throws his arms in front of him.</p><p>“You got flooded.” Audre says, and looks down at the bar, closing her eyes and shaking her head from side to side.</p><p>“Yeah,” Mickey agrees. “And I don’t really remember taking the car, but I did and then I was on the freeway. I knew I fucked up and I pulled over, but I didn’t know what to do or where to go.”</p><p>“But Ian knew where you’d be?” Audre asks.</p><p>“He made a pretty good guess, but yeah, he found me. And I’m glad he did.” Mickey turns in his seat and looks at her directly. “I didn’t want to do what I did. I still can’t believe I did that to you, Audre. I’m so sorry. I wouldn't blame you if you hated me. I’m so, so sorry” Mickey’s voice cracks, and knows he sounds like he might cry.</p><p>“Mickey, stop.” Audre puts one of her hands on his shoulder. “You made a mistake. A big one. But it doesn't erase all the positive things in our friendship and what we’ve done for each other. And it doesn't mean that the way I feel right now will last forever. And you won't feel guilty forever. I want to forgive you, Mickey. And I want things to be okay. But I need time. Not a long time, but I need some time.” Audre tries to smile, but it doesn’t meet her eyes and he thinks she still looks so sad that it makes his chest ache.</p><p>“I’m so fucked up, Audre.” Mickey hears the words coming out of his mouth, but it doesn’t sound like him. “I feel like I just keep trying and I just keep fucking up. I swear I’ve been working, Audre. I have.”</p><p>“Mickey.” Audre’s smile is genuine this time and her tone commands his attention, being authoritative, but kind. And he wonders how the fuck she does that. “Look. You can take a shell of a car and figure out what parts on it still work, and try to replace the ones that don’t. You may get it running beautifully and it’ll take you where you need to go. Maybe even feel like it’s running smooth, but even when you fix a car up it doesn’t mean it isn’t gonna still need work down the road, especially if it hasn't been properly taken care of for many years. You gotta keep doing the work to keep running smoothly. You aren’t just gonna be better one day, and never have to get a tune up again. It doesn’t fuckin’ work like that. Fuck, I still go to therapy.” </p><p>Mickey feels himself calming down and a smile creeps across his face. “So, if I’m the car then where am I at in my repairs?”</p><p>“I don’t know. Ask your therapist.” Audre tries to stay deadpan, but she is struggling.</p><p>“I doubt she knows about cars.” Mickey takes a sip of his beer as Audre gives him a little nudge.</p><p>“You’ll figure it out.” Audre looks at him and he thinks she sounds confident, which makes him feel that way too. </p><p>“I’m not mad, but you have to earn back my trust,” Audre says finally.</p><p>“I want to.” Mickey gives her a smile, feeling sincere and open to the woman next him. </p><p>“Good. ‘Cos I like having you around. And I wouldn’t want to have to kick your ass.” Audre tries to hold back a giggle that is working its way out of her throat. </p><p>“You wish,” he says, teasingly. </p><p>“Don’t fuck with me, Milkovich, you have no idea the shit I’ve had deal with.” She laughs slightly and smiles, but he knows that she probably has been through a lot of shit he can’t even imagine. Like they all have. </p><p>“Alright alright, calm down. I promise I won’t do anything to make you kick my ass.” He smiles, but then sobers. “And I won’t do anything to betray your trust. I promise.” Audre doesn’t reply, she only smiles affectionately and nods her head, and he thinks it’s because she knows he means it. And he does because she is his friend. His first real friend. And he is so thankful she still wants to be.</p><p>***</p><p>They had gotten really good at being in silence together. Sitting next to each other or in the same room, maybe doing the same thing, maybe not, and just being silent with no discomfort, no awkwardness, no tension. Neither of them felt the need to fill the space with words and they could just participate in a parallel process that was easy, that was untroubled, that was satisfying. And Mickey could feel that feeling. That contentment that he had caught glimpses of from time to time, but never was able to hold onto. Until now. Ian was giving him the opportunity to feel it more and more often, and each time he was able to hold onto it a little longer.</p><p>A week and a half has passed since the night Mickey had tried to run away, since the morning Ian had tracked him down at Starved Rock, since he had woken up and sobbed into Ian's arms and then invited him to innocently share his bed. It has been a week of closure and a search for absolution, redemption. It has been a week of work—both at the shop and mentally. And it has been a week of hand holding and embraces and spooning on Mickey's bed. There have been forehead kisses, back rubs, and noses nuzzled into necks, that drew in the scent of the man each neck was attached to.</p><p>They had spent several evenings together and Ian had stayed with Mickey most of the weekend. There was no doubt it was intimate, and Ian was respectful, letting Mickey lead most of their actions, but Mickey could feel Ian holding back. He could see his hand twitch when he would start to move it, as if to touch him, but he would stop himself. It's starting to make Mickey feel guilty, self-conscious even, and he wonders how long Ian will put up with this fourth grade affair before deciding it isn't worth it. </p><p>However, Ian doesn’t complain. Never once seems annoyed. Still, Mickey knows Ian has been with a lot of men, has had various relationships throughout the years, some for convenience and some because… Who knows? Mickey doesn’t really know. What he does know is that Ian has been having sex and intimate relationships since he was thirteen and Mickey absolutely has not, and he is starting to feel insecure about it, and even a little scared that maybe he can’t get to the next point with Ian and that maybe he won’t ever be enough for him.</p><p>Aside from Ian, Dylan had been the closest thing he had to a relationship. Something where he felt comfortable enough to experiment at times and just simply have sex that wasn't some filthy secret in a club bathroom, or dirty alley, or in someone's car. And really, he had only been doing <em> that </em> for maybe a year before he started hooking up with Dylan after finding himself exhausted by it all, that act of denying his need for another man's touch. It had been scary and dangerous, but once he started, he found it was like chasing a high he couldn't quite satisfy.</p><p>Mickey had met Dylan one night outside of a club, which really hadn't been his scene, but that night he had gone on a cautious whim. Dylan was flirty and kind of aggressive, but not what Mickey felt was too flaming, and he found him attractive with his kind of spiky mess of blonde hair and dark brown eyes. Dylan had looked sun kissed, with a light dusting of freckles across his cheekbones, right under his eyes, and he had a smile that had made Mickey's dick twitch when he saw it.</p><p>They hooked up back at Dylan's apartment, which Mickey also normally didn't do, and he had somehow convinced Mickey to take his phone number before he fled the scene. Against his better judgement, Mickey had texted Dylan a week later to hook up again, not feeling like messing with Grindr or cruising in any of the regular spots.</p><p>They never went on any regular dates, Mickey completely shut down the idea every time Dylan brought it up, reminding him that no one knew he "fucked around with guys," and Mickey was never actually trying to have a relationship. But he had honestly liked the guy, found him easy to be around, and he was one of the few people that Mickey didn't find overwhelmingly annoying. He didn't demand anything from Mickey and didn't pry when Mickey didn't want to talk.</p><p>Mickey hadn't been in love with him, but he had started to give a shit about him. They had only been seeing each other for a few months before the shit with Terry happened in the alley that night. Dylan had never <em> really </em> gotten to know him, and they honestly had very little in common. Other than what Mickey felt was pretty good sex, he couldn't quite figure out what Dylan saw in him. But apparently he had been more into Mickey than he had been able to comprehend.</p><p>Dylan kept trying to get to Mickey after he had gotten locked up. He wrote Mickey letters and asked to come visit constantly. Mickey ignored him at first, thinking he would just go away, but he didn't, and finally Mickey wrote him back, telling him it was never gonna happen and he was better off without him. Mickey told Dylan he was a bad guy and a piece of trash and he didn't understand why Dylan hadn't figured that out yet. He told him not to write to him anymore and that would be the last time he would be writing back. And that did it. It was over.</p><p>So, that experience with Dylan had been the only thing close to a relationship Mickey had had since Ian, and it really wasn't much. But Ian had been in lots of relationships, and Mickey also knows—but hates to think about—that Ian had been with many men when he was still a teenager and illegally dancing at the clubs, sometimes selling his body, sometimes trading it for drugs. Mickey knows all of that and is starting to fear he can’t expect for Ian to continue to be satisfied with hand holding and forehead kissing. </p><p>Honestly, he isn’t sure <em> he </em>is satisfied with it either, but he doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t  know where to go from here.</p><p>They are sitting in Mickey's room after work, relaxing in their sweatpants and white tees, Ian having left a few sets of comfy clothes to change into when he hangs out after work. They sit together on Mickey's bed, enjoying the quiet together, Mickey doodling in his sketchbook and Ian reading his novel that he got out of a box they found in the basement that Ian said was some of Frank's old shit from college. </p><p>"Frank went to college?" Mickey gives Ian a look of disbelief.</p><p>"Yeah," Ian huffs. "Asshole's actually really fucking smart. He didn't graduate though."</p><p>"What happened?" Mickey asks and he wonders if he has a weird fascination with Frank because he keeps asking about him.</p><p>"Uh, well, he met Monica." Ian looks Mickey square in the eye, a look that is sadness and fear mixed with a little shame. </p><p>"What's with the face?" Mickey asks him gently. "Why do you look like you're the one that made Frank drop out of college?"</p><p>Ian's head dips down and he won't look at Mickey. "Because no matter how much I protested and how much I tried not to be, I'm her, Mickey. I'm Monica."</p><p>"Hey, no you're not." Mickey tosses his sketchbook on the floor and his pencils on the found-on-the-side-of-the-road nightstand and gets up on his knees, walking over to Ian on the other side of the bed. Mickey places his hands on either side of Ian's face and lifts his head so he can see Ian's eyes and Ian can see his. "You're not. Ian, you're not Monica. You're so much more than whatever it is you shared in common with her. You hear me?"</p><p>Ian looks at Mickey with big puppy dog eyes and he nuzzles against one of Mickey's palms. Ian reaches up slowly and puts his hands on Mickey's hips, squeezing them firmly but not enough to hurt or bruise. Mickey feels sparks shoot across his groin and right into his stomach, causing the butterflies to become unruly and his cock begins to tingle, threatening to grow in his sweatpants.</p><p>Ian looks up at Mickey, green eyes searching for Mickey's blue eyes—sapphire, cornflower, azure. "Mickey," Ian lets out in a breathy whisper and Mickey can feel it on his hand, the hot breath that speaks out his name.</p><p>Mickey leans into Ian and his leg crosses one of his thighs, slotting his left knee in between Ian's legs. Ian pulls him even closer and Mickey falls against him, cradling the head full of ginger locks against his chest. He feels Ian breathe him in, and his hands wrap around Mickey's waist, pulling him in even tighter. It feels good and Mickey kisses the top of Ian's head. He wants more and he's sure Ian does too, but he feels frozen by his fears and can't decide how to handle himself. </p><p>"Ian, I… I don't know what to do here,” he finally confesses into the top of Ian's head. </p><p>Ian pulls back away from Mickey, looking at him with only concern, and it makes Mickey feel defective. He falls out of the embrace with Ian and lands on the bed, unable to make eye contact.</p><p>"Hey, Mickey, it's okay. We don't have to do anything. I'm sorry," Ian tells him.</p><p>"Don't be sorry. Just stop." Mickey is getting so frustrated with himself and Ian and the situation. "You didn't do anything to be sorry for. I'm just...I don't know what to do."</p><p>"I know you're afraid you'll get triggered. That's fine. We can take it slow." Ian tries to reassure him and almost lifts his hand to touch Mickey, but stops.</p><p>"Fuck, Ian." Mickey looks up, eyes blazing. "But for how long? How long are you okay with taking it slow? I mean, am I what you even want? What if I can't…what if I'm just not...ugh." Mickey's frustration is growing as is the bewilderment on Ian's face.</p><p>"What?" Ian asks, looking more irritated by the minute. "What is it?"</p><p>"I'm just not as experienced as you. I didn't get around much." As soon as the words leave Mickey's mouth he knows it’s a mistake.</p><p>"What the fuck does that mean, Mickey?" Ian is standing now, he sees Ian's face reddening, and he wishes he could take it all back.</p><p>"I just mean… Ian, I just haven't been with… Don’t you want… You know… You were…" Mickey is flailing and doesn't see a way out, only making it worse.</p><p>“I was what? A whore? Yeah, you know what? I was whoring around. I was whoring. I was a fucking… a fucking whore,” Ian rasps out, and his eyes are red, tears brimming his lower lids, threatening to spring forward. Ian looks up furiously and Mickey quickly looks away and then down at the ground.</p><p>“You knew, didn't you?” Ian says through gritted teeth. "I thought you might after that snide fucking comment in the alley that day, but now I'm positive that you knew."</p><p>“I—” Mickey starts to protest.</p><p>“No. Fuck you. You knew,” Ian accuses, his hands balled into fists. “Did you know about all of it?”</p><p>“Ian—” Mickey stands up off the bed trying not to make eye contact with Ian.</p><p>“No! Answer me.” Ian grabs Mickey by the shoulders, anger seeping out of his pores, and spins him around, pinning Mickey against the bathroom door. “Answer me.” Ian is pointing directly in his face. “Did you know?”</p><p>“Yes,” Mickey says quietly at first, finding speech very difficult.</p><p>“What?!” Ian yells in Mickey’s face.</p><p>“Yes," Mickey says a little louder. “I knew. I—I knew about all of it.”</p><p>"Yeah." Ian releases Mickey and takes a step back. "Yeah, you knew a lot. I'm not sure how, but you did."</p><p>Mickey is embarrassed and he doesn't know how to explain how and why he had kept tabs on Ian all those years. Even with the level of denial he had allowed himself to be in, he had still gone to some lengths to always know where Ian was, often relying on good old fashioned gossip, but never not being aware of him.</p><p>"Yeah, I know you knew I ran away."</p><p>"Yeah." Mickey looks down, feeling ashamed.</p><p>"Did you figure out it was because of you? Because I couldn't handle being near you, having you so close and not being able to be with you? Having you try to hurt me? After Mandy left, I just couldn't fucking take it anymore." Ian juts out his chin and balls up his fists. "I was sixteen and I ran away and you were just okay with that."</p><p>"What?" Mickey looks up. "No, I wasn't—"</p><p>"No!" Ian shouts taking another step back. "You knew I was turning tricks?" he asks.</p><p>“I—" Mickey drops his head again and quietly nods, unable to look Ian in the eye.</p><p>Ian backs away further until the backs of his legs hit the bed. "Did you know I tried to kill myself, Mickey?" Ian's voice cracks, and a single tear falls from his right eye, cascading down his cheek, painting a streak of grief and pain on its descent.</p><p>"Ian…" Mickey shakes his head and he looks up. The truth hangs in the air and there is quiet for several beats.</p><p>"Did you see me that night?" Ian's voice is barely above a whisper and his breath is uneven. "Did you? That night at the party. I saw you, but I didn't think you saw me."</p><p>Mickey nods again, glancing at Ian quickly, and then looking away. He doesn’t want to see what he knows will be written all over Ian’s face. Anger. Hurt. Betrayal.</p><p>"You saw me see you with that girl, didn't you?" Ian doesn't wait for an answer. "And you know I tried to kill myself that night, right? Took every pill, powder, and liquid I could find." Ian is trembling, and more tears start to fall silently down Ian's cheeks.</p><p>"Ian." Mickey is finally looking at him, slowly moving towards him. "Ian, what was I supposed to do?"</p><p>"I was in that fucking hospital for two months Mickey. And all that was just okay with you?"</p><p>"What? No," Mickey says, taking another step forward. </p><p>"Wow. You never fucking cared." Ian is shaking his head, his voice quivering. He looks like he is having a revelation, stumbling across a reality he had not considered. "You couldn’t have. I always just thought you were too afraid to be who you were, too afraid of Terry, but that you still loved me. All that was a fucking fantasy in my head just like everything else. You never loved me. You couldn't have known all that and not done anything and still loved me. My sick mind made that up. Made me think I was more to you than I was. My fucking brain made up this fairy tale where I mattered. I never actually did, did I?"</p><p>"Fuck you, Ian." Mickey's words rush out way harsher than he intends, but he feels a wave of emotion coming that he may not be able to control. "You did matter." Mickey grabs Ian's shirt in his fists and gets in his face, feeling heat rise from his chest and snake its way up his neck. </p><p>"Listen to me!" he hisses. "What was I supposed to do? Run after you like some bitch? And do what when I found you? Bring you back so Terry could kill me, so he could kill you? 'Cos he was going to kill you Ian." Mickey's voice cracks and he releases him forcefully.</p><p>"What?" Ian gulps in air, wiping away fresh tears from his face.</p><p>"Kill you, Ian." Mickey pronounces every word slowly and with emphasis. "If he even knew at the time you still talked to Mandy he would have killed you. Which was so fucking stupid by the way. But if you were with me—if we—he wasn't joking." Tears are in Mickey's eyes, and he rubs his hand across his nose. "He almost killed us the first time. But if he found out I even called you on the phone he would have found you, made my brother put two in the back of your head and dumped your body in the foundry. And made me watch."</p><p>Ian is dumbfounded and quiet, plopping down on the bed, looking weighed down by the new information. </p><p>"And you know what he did?" Mickey is shaking, trembling, as he stands in front of Ian, baring his soul. "Just to prove a point. After I healed and was back to doing runs for my Pops, one day he took me and my brothers down to faggotville and kidnapped some fucking twink down there. He made me and my brothers watch as he and my uncle beat him and then ki—"</p><p>Mickey scrubs his hands down face, tears stinging but not falling. He turns away from Ian, looking at the ceiling, groaning like an animal in pain.</p><p>"Mickey." Ian's eyes are wet and he is panting.</p><p>"He said 'If I see you with that redhead cock smokin' queer again that's gonna be him.’ He said he'd make my brothers do it and make me watch, Ian. And then I'd be next. That's how I knew he wasn't fucking around." Mickey turns and looks at him with glassy eyes.</p><p>"Mickey I didn't—" Ian starts.</p><p>"Of course you didn't. I couldn't tell you that. I couldn't talk to you at all. And don't think he wouldn't have found out. My dad always found out. Even when he was in the can I couldn't risk it. I couldn't let him hurt you." Mickey feels his first tear drop and he is angry at it, angry at that one fucking tear that couldn't contain itself, couldn't just hold on until he wasn't in front of Ian.</p><p>Ian stands up and reaches for Mickey's arm, but he yanks it away. Ian doesn't relent, and takes the risk of trying to grab Mickey again only with success this time. Ian slides his arm around Mickey's shoulders and pulls him in. </p><p>"That's why you beat me up that day. Why you kicked my ass. Said those shitty things to me," Ian whispers into Mickey's hair.</p><p>"I needed to make sure you stayed away. Needed you to hate me," Mickey says into Ian's shoulder. "I was so fucking angry with you. I did everything I could to protect you, to stay away from you, and you were at my fucking house. And you were with Mandy, like you didn't care. Like it didn't matter. Fuck, Ian. I just needed you to stay away. I just needed you to hate me." Mickey's voice sounds strangled and tight.</p><p>"I never did though, Mickey. Even after that."</p><p>"You should have." Mickey pulls away. "And then you ran off and I thought maybe it was for the best, but—"</p><p>They are quiet because they know what comes after the "but".</p><p>"But then I became a whore," Ian says, his breathing evening out. He sounds calm, sounds numb.</p><p>"Stop—stop saying that," Mickey insists, grinding his palms into his eyes. "It feels like it's my fucking fault, Ian."</p><p>"But I was a whore. And it wasn't 'cos of you. Well, not really. I ran away because of you. That's true. But I'm bipolar, and fucked up shit happened that I just had no control over. I know that isn’t a news flash to you. Everybody in the old neighborhood fucking knows that." Ian sits back down, heavy on the bed. </p><p>Ian lets out a long almost whistling breath and starts again. "I ran off with Monica and spent a couple months with her on the road and yeah, the stress definitely helped move it along, but I had my first manic episode then, Mickey. And there were drugs and we needed money… and Monica…" Ian looks down and is now the one who looks ashamed. </p><p>"You were sixteen." Mickey's voice cracks and he is trying to assure Ian, but finding he can't get his words across.</p><p>"Yeah." Ian stands again, arms crossed in front of him. "Sixteen, bipolar, heart broken, strung out, and being taken care of by an older version of myself." Ian lets out a bitter laugh.</p><p>Mickey doesn't bother to placate or patronize Ian by telling him that he's not like Monica again. Because the truth is he isn’t sure anymore, but it sounds like in a lot of ways Ian <em> was </em>. Maybe not anymore, but that isn’t for him to decide. That’s Ian's call. Ian's burden. Ian's to work out. But Mickey knows Monica had hurt him, had hurt all her kids. Maybe because she was sick, but no matter what, she had hurt Ian, and that infuriated Mickey.</p><p>Ian looks at Mickey somberly. "By the time we got back to Chicago and were living in a flop house, I was already gone." Ian shakes his head and looks at Mickey with pleading eyes. "But I never stopped thinking about you. I tried. I fucking tried, Mickey. But no amount of coke, or molly, or cock could cure me. It was fucking pathetic."</p><p>"Ian, I—" he stutters and hot breath comes out of his nose. </p><p>"Don't, Mickey. I understand. I mean, I'm trying to."</p><p>"But you got cleaned up."</p><p>"I guess." Ian shrugs. "Monica took off. And I know you know full well about the sugar daddies because of what you thought was going on with me and Willie."</p><p>Mickey looks down in shame yet again.</p><p>"One of them stuck around a little longer than the others and he actually cared about me or something. Got me cleaned up, off drugs, helped me finish school. Got me in therapy." Mickey raises his head and Ian gives him a knowing look. "Then his wife found out that he had me in an apartment uptown and he dropped me off in front of my family's house with no warning. You know what happened from there, right? Saw you six months later at that party. With your… 'girlfriend'." Ian's face twists up in disgust and he throws air quotes at the conversation.</p><p>"Why are you making weird fucking air quotes?" Mickey asks, feeling annoyance replacing shame and sadness.</p><p>"Come on, Mickey." Ian tilts his head to the side, and gives Mickey a wry look.</p><p>"It's what I had to do at the time, Ian." Mickey is candid, and feels his heart start to beat loud in his ears. "She was my fucking girlfriend. I'm not proud of it, I didn't love her. Sometimes when she'd touch me it would feel like my fucking skin was burning, but you were back…"</p><p>They look at each other intensely for a long time, neither of them moving.</p><p>Mickey takes a ragged breath in. "You were back and I couldn't give my dad any reason to get suspicious. I couldn't let him hurt you, Ian!" Mickey grows passionate, making a stabbing motion down with his fingers.</p><p>“Okay, okay.” Ian throws his hands up.</p><p>“No. Not okay. You think I didn't want to run over to your family's fucking house the minute I knew you were back? You think I didn't want to grab you and…” The words get stuck in his throat. “It almost killed me, Ian. Don't ever say you didn't matter to me. You mattered the most. More than…” He gasps and chokes out, “More than anyone.” </p><p>Mickey turns away, pressing his hands to his eyes. “I had to figure out how to keep you away and also make my dad think that I—” His hands fall to the side.</p><p>“That you didn't give a shit about me? That you liked pussy? That you were straight?”</p><p>“All of the above,” he mumbles. </p><p>“So you started going out with—what was her name?” he asks, brows furrowed</p><p>“I don't remember.” Mickey shakes his head. “Because she didn't matter. “</p><p>They look at each other. </p><p>“I knew what you did. And I figured it was ‘cos of me, but I hoped that maybe when you got better maybe you could get over me. Move on. Thought maybe they could fix you or somethin'.”</p><p>“They did or somethin'.” He looks down and huffs out, “And it kinda worked.”</p><p>“Whaddya mean?” Mickey asks quietly.</p><p>“Well, I moved on.” Ian takes a step closer, closing the distance between them. “But I never got over you.”</p><p>Mickey’s breath hitches as he looks up into Ian's eyes. “When did you get over me, Mickey? When did you decide I didn't matter anymore? Enough that when I walked in here you could pretend I never existed to you before?”</p><p>Their bodies are impossibly close. Ian's jaw is set and rigid. Anger is bubbling just below the surface. Hot breath is on his face. Their height difference is overwhelming Mickey, and he is frozen in place. Mickey feels like he can't breathe. <em> When did he get so tall </em>?</p><p>“Answer me.” Their bodies are touching now but their hands remain at their sides. Ian leans down and breathes in Mickey's ear. "When?" It is hot and drawn out, and Mickey feels like his legs are going to give way underneath him.</p><p>Mickey is shaking and he starts to tip backward. Ian reaches out and puts a steady hand on the back of Mickey's neck. Mickey is letting short quick puffs of air in and out of his nose. He reaches up and grabs Ian’s forearm that is holding his neck, focusing his eyes on Ian’s skin that is peaking out from between his fingers. </p><p>When Ian breathes again, he is closer to Mickey's mouth, and Mickey can taste him on his tongue. Mickey shifts his eyes back in front of him, staring at Ian's lips and then to his nose until finally he meets his gaze.</p><p>“Never,” Mickey says in a barely audible whisper against Ian's lips. “I never got over you, Ian Gallagher.” </p><p>Ian doesn’t wait for permission this time or for Mickey to make the first move. He smashes their lips together, enveloping Mickey's bottom lip in between his own as Mickey sucks on Ian's top. It's tentative for a second, but Mickey quickly cranks it up, feeling impatient, feeling frenzied. He pushes his tongue into Ian's mouth, reaching up with his free hand and running his fingers up the back of Ian's hair. </p><p>Mickey presses his body into Ian's, eliminating whatever space there might have been left between them. Ian's left arm circles around Mickey's waist. Mickey turns his head slightly to the side to give him better access to all of Ian's mouth, pressing his open mouth up into Ian's. Their lips and tongue furiously connect and slide against one another, warm and wet. Ian pulls back to catch his breath, but then goes back in without hesitation. They use their hands on the backs of their heads to press even deeper, trying to devour each other. Trying to eat through lost time. </p><p>And Mickey's feeling Ian's mouth again. Ian's lips. Ian's tongue. Ian's teeth. Feels his stubble that wasn't there the last time their mouths were together. Feels Ian's strong jaw, more square and firm. Feels Ian. But so much more than the Ian he felt before. Feels Ian's broadened shoulders and his muscular chest pressed against his. And now he has to pull Ian's head down while he shifts up to make their mouths meet. <em> So fucking tall. </em> </p><p>“Mickey?” Ian separates their lips, panting, heart pounding against Mickey's chest. </p><p>“Never, Gallagher,” Mickey says into Ian's mouth. “C'mere.” Mickey grabs the back of Ian’s neck and fists Ian’s hair as he explores his mouth once again.</p><p>Mickey starts slowly pushing back with his body, back toward the bed, closer and closer. He nudges Ian with his hips as he grasps at Ian’s hip with his other hand. </p><p>Ian shuffles back until he hits the bed behind him. “Mickey?” Ian breathes heavily as he pulls away from him, his eyes wide.</p><p>“Shut up,” Mickey murmurs against Ian’s lips and lightly shoves Ian down on the bed. Ian looks up in shock, holding his breath in anticipation.</p><p>Mickey jumps on the bed and straddles Ian, taking off his shirt. He isn’t thinking, only doing and he wants to feel Ian as close to him as possible. He can’t take being apart from him for a minute longer. The need for that closeness far outweighs any fear he was holding on to. The fear may come back, but there is no room for that right now. </p><p>Ian gasps at the sight of Mickey’s bare skin. Mickey places his palms on Ian’s pecs as he sits there, looking down at Ian, studying his face and neck and chest. Ian reaches up as if mesmerized and runs his fingers over Mickey’s shoulders, down his arms and then back up. Mickey feels electrical pulses with every touch and he sighs deeply. Ian runs his fingers down Mickey’s chest and across his nipples, grazing them. Mickey’s breath hitches. </p><p>“Oh, fuck,” escapes Mickey’s lips, barely audible as he throws his head back and closes his eyes for a moment, but he doesn’t want to keep them closed long because he wants to stay present, wants to stay with Ian and see him underneath him as they feel each other. Ian runs his hands down to Mickey’s stomach, and then one hand across Mickey’s soft warm belly, and back to Mickey’s nipples. Ian takes both nipples in between his finger and thumb and rolls them gently. Mickey moans and arches his back, the feeling almost overwhelming and all encompassing.</p><p>“Fuck.” Mickey grabs Ian’s wrists. “C'mere,” he tells him as he grabs the back of Ian's neck and pulls him up to him, Mickey still straddling his lap. Mickey feels Ian hardening beneath him as they slot their mouths together again and kiss deeply, slowing the pace from rushed and fevered to languid and slow. </p><p>They are probing each other's mouths, Mickey's hand on the nape of Ian's neck and the other arm wrapped around Ian’s shoulder and back, while Ian wraps both arms around Mickey's lower back. They kiss and experience the sensation of each other's mouths moving together, quiet moans and soft whimpers, nipping at lips and tangled tongues. They kiss and it feels like nothing else in the world exists. Nothing else ever has. Except Ian and Mickey and this kiss. </p><p>"Mickey?" Ian pulls back to look at Mickey's face Mickey sees tears streaming down Ian's cheeks, and feels wetness on his own. Quiet tears. He realizes his cheeks don't just carry Ian's, but they are mixed with his as well. "Mickey?" Ian chokes out his name again, reaching for Mickey's face, he feels Ian exploring it with his thumbs and sees a desperate, frightened look in Ian's eyes. </p><p>"Ian." Mickey slides his hands around to Ian's face, feathering his fingertips down Ian's cheeks, dragging salty tears down towards Ian's neck. "I'm right here." Mickey's voice cracks and he feels a lump in his throat that feels like a sob pushing against his Adam's apple.</p><p>Ian chokes and coughs like he can't get enough air to his lungs, while his eyes continue to scour Mickey's face, like he's making sure it's really him. "You're here."</p><p>"I'm here, Ian. And so are you." Mickey gives a soft kiss on Ian’s left cheek and then his right, then kisses on the man's face below him, no longer the face of the boy he once placed kisses on, and it feels so fucking good. He slides his hands back around Ian's head and weaves his fingers in his ginger locks. "We're not going anywhere. I'm not going anywhere. I fucking promise. You hear me? And you aren't either. You got that?"</p><p>Ian grabs the back of Mickey's head and buries his face in his neck crying gently, hot tears rolling off Ian's face, across Mickey's neck and down his chest. "I'm so fucked up, Mick. You aren't going to want me. I'm too fucked up. You know what I’ve done. I've done so many terrible things, and I'm… I'm…"</p><p>"Shh. Shh. Shhhh." Mickey pulls Ian's head out of his neck so he can look at him in his red swollen eyes, his own blue eyes flowing with tears, burning from the sting of the salty solution. "Hey. None of that matters now. It doesn’t matter what you did—what you had to do. I was an asshole for ever bringing any of that up. Whatever happens now is what matters and we can figure it out. You think I'm not fucked up? You think I haven't done fucked up shit? You know I have." Ian convulses a little as another small sob escapes him.</p><p>Mickey slides his hands down Ian's face once more, wiping tears away. He wraps his arms around Ian’s neck and kisses each tear stained cheek, then Ian’s forehead, smoothing his furrowed brow. He hears Ian’s breathing evening out and he leans down and presses his lips to Ian’s in a chaste kiss, followed by a series of pecks with one gentle nibble on Ian’s bottom lip.</p><p>“You’re the only thing that ever really mattered to me, Ian.” Mickey wraps his legs around Ian’s lower back, bringing them closer still as he whispers into Ian’s mouth. “I have so many things I want to say, but I just can’t say them all right now.”</p><p>“You don’t need to say them right now,” Ian says with a shaky voice. “I just want you to know it doesn’t matter who I’ve been with or what I’ve done with other people. I only ever wanted to be with you. I still only want to be with you, however you want that to be. It doesn’t matter to me, Mickey. I’m here however you want me.” Ian grazes his lips on the underside of Mickey’s jaw and then buries his face in Mickey’s neck, Ian’s lips slowly wetting it.</p><p>“Right now I want you like this,” Mickey rasps down into Ian’s ear. “I don’t know if there will be more tonight, but right now, this is how I want you.” The words are low and sexy and he feels both their cocks grow hard between them. It makes his stomach clench with desire and he can feel Ian opening his mouth slowly but then hesitate.</p><p>“Ian.” Mickey squeezes Ian tighter with both his arms and his legs, pushing Ian’s face closer to his neck. “If I don’t want you to do something, I’ll tell you. Okay?” </p><p>Ian pulls away and looks up into Mickey’s eyes. “What if something happens?”</p><p>“I’m not afraid of that anymore.” Mickey shakes his head and touches the tips of their noses together. “‘Cos If something happens I know you got me. Right?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Ian sighs, gently rubbing his nose against Mickeys. “Yeah, I got you. I’ll take care of you.” As Ian repeats the words from their youth and two weekends ago, he runs his open palms up Mickey’s back and into his hair before capturing his lips again. And Mickey believes him, believes he has him, believes he’ll take care of him. Ian will be his safety. He’ll be his friend. He’ll be his present and hopefully his future. And Mickey will be his too.</p><p>Ian moves his mouth over to Mickey’s neck and takes in a deep breath, and it somehow feels new. Ian kisses Mickey’s neck and opens his mouth to take in the muscular flesh, gently sucking and laving his tongue in between kisses and gentle bites. Mickey moans and digs his fingers into the flesh of Ian’s shoulders. With his right hand he reaches up and fists Ian’s hair, twisting red locks in between his fingers, and he pushes Ian’s head against his neck more firmly.</p><p>A low growl escapes Ian’s throat as his mouth is forced open, causing him to take in more flesh. The sound coming from Ian stirs Mickey, and he reaches down to pull Ian's white t-shirt off. They separate momentarily as Ian helps Mickey strip off his shirt. Mickey releases his hold on Ian with his legs and gently pushes Ian the rest of the way down on the bed, covering him with his own body, feeling the skin and muscles and soft flesh of their chests and stomachs against each other. The heat from their bodies sets Mickey on fire and there is so much he wants right now, but only so much he can get without overwhelming himself and maybe Ian as well.</p><p>Mickey slides up Ian’s chest, finding the friction between their two bodies delicious, electrifying all of his senses. Ian wraps his arms around Mickey’s waist again, holding him tightly, securely, and they push their mouths together once more. </p><p>They lay together all night in Mickey's bed, exploring each other with tongues, teeth, lips, palms, and fingers, Mickey feeling another demon released with each touch, chasing away his insecurity and his fear, and hopefully chasing away Ian's as well. They stay like that until they fall asleep wrapped around one another, safe and together. Without fear. Without interruption. Without hesitation.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello Everyone-</p><p>I hope you enjoyed the chapter even though there were some rough moments. I'm so excited that we are getting close to the end of our journey, but also sad. I so appreciate everyone that has stuck with the story and engaged with it.</p><p>I don't have much more to say. I have included more resources below, and please seek mental health professionals, friends and/or loved ones if you ever feel like you may harm yourself.</p><p>I anticipate having the next chapter up in two weeks.</p><p>Thank you all and be well.</p><p> 💖,</p><p>Chat Noir</p><p>A few Resources:</p><p>*The Trevor Project is the leading national organization providing crisis intervention and suicide prevention services to lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer &amp; questioning (LGBTQ) young people under 25.<br/>https://www.thetrevorproject.org/?gclid=Cj0KCQiAqo3-BRDoARIsAE5vnaKu8CnxWWYGEF6SmIzqHMtVyvfrcVMRcfe-C6imcQd-GtLexmubnXoaAn8FEALw_wcB</p><p>*National Suicide prevention lifeline provides several ways for people to reach out. The website and phone number for the U.S. are below:<br/>https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/<br/>1-800-273-8255</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>HAPPY NEW YEAR, KITTY-CATS! 🎊🥂💖</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He awakens tucked up next to a tall muscular body, skin the color of cream, cinnamon dusted and trimmed in red. Under the expansive wing that holds him tightly in place, he nestles securely, unwilling to move. His lips already grazing the warm, pink areola where his head lay, he parts his lips ever so slightly and covers the small ring of flesh with his mouth, the tip of his tongue pushes on the nipple, applying pressure as he closes his lips around it. Delicious moans and gentle humming accompany an arched back and a tightened grip from the man he is feeling with his mouth. </p><p>“What are you doing?” A soft, husky giggle escapes the redhead, whose eyes are still shut as he pulls him in closer. Holds him tighter.</p><p>It’s like a dream, but not the sanguinated dreams that sometimes come calling, with their spindly fingers of pain and longing. It’s a dream wrapped in silk—soft and sultry, but with hard angles and firm ripples. It’s warm and inviting and Mickey could live there. Could live in the dream. With him. With Ian.</p><p>“Mmmmm.” Gentle murmuring escapes Mickey’s lips. He doesn’t answer Ian’s question. There’s really no reason for him to. Answering the question would only interrupt or delay the sweet pulsations of Mickey’s movement against Ian’s body. </p><p>No one wants that.</p><p>A tattooed hand slides across Ian’s stomach, fingers stopping to dance in the little garden of curly red hair, sending a visible shiver down Ian’s spine. The very tips of Mickey’s fingers trace the top of the band of Ian’s boxers as he opens his mouth a little wider and starts to suck on Ian’s tender nipple.</p><p>“Unh, Mickey,” Ian breathes out and it sounds so gorgeous to Mickey’s ears that he can feel his cock becoming firm in his boxer briefs. It strains against the fabric and he knows that it’s also pushing against Ian’s upper thigh, telling him how he feels about the sounds coming from Ian’s body.</p><p>Mickey opens his eyes and looks up at Ian, who keeps his closed as if he is truly still dreaming. It’s still dark and a stray bit of indigo blue light from outside falls gently across Ian’s mouth, chin, and neck. Not quite night. Not quite dawn. But twilight—twinkling on Ian’s face, making him look ethereal and almost unreal. Maybe he is still dreaming. Maybe this is <em> all </em>a dream. But just as a little icy chill starts to fill his belly, Ian opens his eyes that sparkle even in the dim light and he smiles down at Mickey, then lifts his hand, reaching across his body to Mickey’s face, taking his chin between his thumb and forefinger. Ian tilts Mickey’s head up as he leans down to plant a chaste, but lingering kiss against Mickey’s soft lips.</p><p>“Good Morning,” Ian drawls and there is something about it that feels teasing, but sounds so fucking sexy that Mickey can barely stand it.</p><p>“Mmmmm.” Mickey repeats himself from earlier and smiles, going in for another kiss.</p><p>“We don’t have to go to work today,” Ian tells him as he runs his thumb across Mickey’s bottom lip.</p><p>“Why’s that?” Mickey asks, trapping Ian’s thumb playfully between his teeth.</p><p>Ian puffs a little laugh. “‘Cos it’s Saturday, Mick.”</p><p><em> Holy shit it is Saturday. </em> All of a sudden Mickey is overcome with a feeling he can only describe as “high” and he is now very much awake. “Fuck yeah.” He quickly changes positions and is now straddling Ian, leaning down, chest to chest. If Ian hadn’t felt how hard Mickey’s cock was before there was no way he could avoid it now. Mickey slides up and kisses Ian’s neck and then under his jaw as Ian brings his hands up and begins feathering Mickey’s back with light touches.</p><p>“We can stay in bed all morning,” Ian whispers.</p><p>Mickey lifts his head up to look at him. “Can and will.” Mickey frames Ian’s face with his hands and slides up on his body further still. “You got someplace better to be, Gallagher?”</p><p>“No fucking way.” Ian wraps his arms around Mickey’s waist and locks them at the wrist, pulling Mickey down tighter on top of him while lifting up to chase after Mickey’s mouth. He then peppers Mickey’s jaw with small pecks and gives a sucking kiss to his neck. He captures Mickey’s earlobe in between his teeth and mumbles, “You’re not getting rid of me that easy.”</p><p>“No shit.” Mickey lets out a throaty laugh that makes Ian flip them over playfully so he is now on top, looking down at the raven-haired man.</p><p>“Is this okay?” Ian asks, his voice soft and barely audible.</p><p>Mickey swallows around the lump in his throat. “Yeah. “ Mickey nods and vines his arms around Ian’s neck. “It’s more than okay.” Mickey would be lying if he said he isn’t afraid, but like everything else that had taken place between them over the last few weeks, he feels that it’s worth it to set aside any flutter of anxiety in order to be able to be as close to Ian as possible.</p><p>It's been a week and half since that first kiss, and they're continuing to figure out their limits, still testing how far they can go. And at times Ian is more frightened than Mickey, which fills Mickey with a combination of sadness, affection, and the immediate need to comfort Ian. But Mickey feels prepared to handle what may happen. A lot of it has to do with the simple affection that seems to pass between them, and how easy it has been to just be in each others space, but as much as he hates to admit it, he knows that a lot of it has to do with the work he had done with Maria in session earlier that week, which had been embarrassing, but also necessary, and had given him the context for his feelings and the confidence to try to work through it. </p><h5>***</h5><p>The Monday after their first kiss, Mickey had arrived at Maria’s with a jumbled brain, not sure where to start and feeling such a weird combination of angst, elation, anxiety, and confusion that he felt kind of light headed and unsure how he was going to unravel it all with Maria or even at what point to begin from. However, after another look through Mickey’s drawings over the weekend, Ian had encouraged him to take some of them to show Maria, which Mickey thought was a stupid fucking idea, but he agreed to do it anyway, so he at least he had that and decided that was where he was going to start.</p><p>“These are really good, Mickey,” Maria stated, leafing through the various drawings that were at least eighty percent cars, but then she got to the drawing of the boy with the dirty face in front of the door, and she paused for several heartbeats—heartbeats that felt like they were pumping inside of Mickey and threatening to leap out of his chest.</p><p>“When did you draw this, Mickey?” Maria picked up the drawing and held it up to the light.</p><p>“Um, a couple weeks ago…I think.” Mickey rubbed the back of his head and felt his face reddening. “After me and Ian got in the fight where we…he was like on top of me…and on my neck.” Mickey was gesturing wildly trying to figure out how to explain it, but finding all the words getting stuck. “And I freaked out. Right before we agreed to try to be friends. So maybe a little longer than a couple weeks. I don’t know. It’s weird. It’s…I don’t know what I was doing. I didn’t know I was doin’ it. It just kinda happened.”</p><p>Maria considered it a moment longer and then set it down delicately. “You were holding back the darkness. That trauma you couldn't remember or face.” She said it in such a matter of fact tone that Mickey saw there was no question about it in her mind that the boy was him and that what he was doing was trying to keep out the memories that eventually flooded him. And she was right.</p><p>“Yeah. Well it got in, didn’t it?” Mickey sat back, grinding his jaw and shaking his head.</p><p>“But it didn't break you. It didn't kill you. You're here, Mickey. You survived,” Maria said calmly and with such confidence that it jolted him forward and he looked at her, trying to figure out how he felt about what she was saying. </p><p>He knew she was right. It hadn’t killed him and he had survived, but he still felt like shit about it, even after talking to everyone and trying to make amends. He still couldn’t shake the guilt and the feeling of being some shithead that was no better than his past. He let out a ragged breath that was laced with a groan and put his face in his hands.</p><p>“But I fucked up so bad,” he told her. </p><p>“What's been the result of that mistake, Mickey?” Maria asked soberly and he had a feeling she was not letting him get away with anything today and wasn’t going to let him feel sorry for himself.</p><p>Mickey sat, thinking, considering what she was asking him, and he struggled to answer her.</p><p>“What have been the consequences?” Maria reframed the question, hoping he would be able to answer her, but he wasn’t able to so he didn't, and he started to squirm in his seat a little.</p><p>“Mickey,” Maria commanded his attention and he looked her in the eye. “Did you violate your parole?”</p><p>“No—no,” he said feebly.</p><p>“Were you arrested?” Maria asked, and he shook his head.</p><p>“Did you lose your job or your home? Or Ian?” She smiled kindly, and he saw what she was doing, but he didn’t want to let himself off the hook that easily.</p><p>“No, but maybe I should have lost all of that. And maybe I lost Audre. I definitely deserve that.” Mickey knew what he was saying was somewhat irrational, but he just couldn’t help himself.</p><p>“Have you talked to Audre?”</p><p>Mickey huffed, and felt oddly self-conscious about it. “Yeah. And she said she isn’t gonna always feel like she does, and that she’ll need time to trust me again.” </p><p>“So what do you think that means?”</p><p>“I don't know. She needs space. But then she's gonna have time to think about it and she’s gonna wanna tell me to fuck off. And she should. I still can't believe I did that.” Mickey was pressing his lips into his teeth and letting the slight sting keep him from going somewhere else.</p><p>“You don't actually know that, do you?”</p><p>“What?” Mickey looked at Maria with wide eyes.</p><p>“You're assuming what she's going to do based on how you feel about what you did not how she feels,” Maria told him and he was somehow shocked by how right she was and didn't understand how something that simple couldn’t just come to him on his own.</p><p>“Yeah, you’re right.” Mickey nodded.</p><p>“You are going to have to forgive yourself or you won’t be able to move on from this.” Maria was definitive in her statement and didn’t leave room for him to argue. “It doesn’t mean you should forget it or not work to make sure it doesn’t happen again, but if all the people around you are willing to give you a second chance, then you probably need to give yourself one too.”</p><p><em> Fuck, she’s smart. </em>He nodded his head at her in agreement, acknowledging what she had said, and that he would try.</p><p>“What else is going on?” Maria asked. “How are things going with Ian?”</p><p>It took Mickey a few seconds, but he soon realized that he was smiling and a blush had crept across his face.</p><p>“I take it that's a good sign?” Maria said.</p><p>“Yeah, well...we had our first kiss...you know what I mean...like now,” Mickey stuttered, but Maria nodded and he felt better about it and continued. “But...we did get into a fight. And a lot of stuff from the past came up.”</p><p>Mickey proceeded to tell her about the fight that Ian and Mickey had in his room and admits that they both probably still have resentments about the past, which Maria acknowledged and normalized. And Mickey told her that he had been keeping tabs on Ian all of these years, sometimes without realizing it, and how much that hurt Ian because he had never done anything to intervene in some of the truly terrible things that had happened to him.</p><p>“I never thought that what I was doing was wrong or that it would hurt him. I only thought I was protecting him. Protecting myself. Sometimes I wasn’t even thinking at all,” Mickey scoffed, his eyes downcast and feeling like he all of a sudden had a lot more to tell her than he realized.</p><p>“I don’t want to be mad at him anymore. I don’t want to hate him or him to hate me. I don’t want to get angry when I think about us being apart or us being together or the time we could have been together but weren't. I don’t want to be angry at him for putting himself in danger because I know now that I probably have been angry at him for that. I felt like I sacrificed by not being with him and by trying to keep him away from me so he could be safe, but he wasn’t keeping himself safe. He did some fucked up things, we both did, but honestly I feel like a lot of it is my fault.” </p><p>“No.” Maria shook her head. “Blame is a dangerous game, Mickey. Especially when you were given the set of circumstances both of you had. I think you need to reconsider that. And think about if trying to figure out who to blame is even worth it.” </p><p>“Yeah. I guess.” Mickey nodded his head, giving it serious consideration, then he looked up at her with wide eyes and tried unsuccessfully to suppress what was probably a smile. “Or I could just blame Terry.” </p><p>Maria threw her head back and laughed, and he wasn’t completely sure if he'd heard her laugh before. If he had it definitely was not like this. He thought he had probably taken her by surprise because the conversation was so serious, and he had definitely attempted to lighten the mood a little. And it looked like it had worked. </p><p>“You could.” Maria smiled and shrugged. “I mean, think about this…Would you feel safe right now if he were alive?”</p><p>“Fuck no.” Mickey leaned back and slouched in his seat, grimacing.</p><p>“Would you even be having this conversation with me?” Maria asked and Mickey just shook his head. “Would you feel free right now if he were alive, Mickey? Would you feel free to even try to have Ian be part of your life?”</p><p>“Nah.” It was almost a whisper, and Mickey swallowed hard as he looked at the ground through his lashes.</p><p>“I’m not a fan of blame, but I will say this: Terry is dead and now you are free to be whoever you want and do whatever you want with whomever you want…as long as it’s consensual and within the letter of the law.” Maria smiled as she added that last part in a teasing manner, and he thought he really liked this side of her and hoped that some of this lightness returned next session.</p><p>Mickey also realized that what she was saying about Terry being dead and him now finally being free was probably true. He knew it was true. He’d known, but for whatever reason it had been a hard lesson to absorb and had not really sunk in. He still felt held hostage by Terry so much of the time, which made him think about Ian.</p><p>“I—” Mickey started, but stopped, feeling awkward, but also a little lost inside his own head. “I don’t want to be worried anymore about what might happen if Ian touches me just the wrong way without even meaning to. I’m fuckin’ sick of that. But then we kissed the other night…” Micky kind of drifted off, not sure where he was going with it anyway.</p><p>“How are you feeling about that, Mickey?” Maria asked him the most therapist of therapy questions she possibly could and it made him snort a little.</p><p>“It was good. I mean, I had been so afraid to do anything, go too far, but when we were arguing I realized how much he had always meant to me. I just hadn’t always been conscious of it and I think I also didn’t want it to be true. But it was. It is. And I knew that I really wanted to be with him. We were together all night and nothing bad happened. It was actually the opposite,” Mickey told her.</p><p>“The opposite?</p><p>“Yeah, like it felt safe.” Mickey shrugged. “It felt good.”</p><p>“So how are things progressing sexually?” Maria asked him calmly, with no judgement, like she was asking him how his eating habits had been. Hearing her say the word “sexually” in relation to him and Ian made Mickey feel like he had needles sticking in his scalp despite the fact that he had done the same thing earlier in the week. But he realized that talking to her about it was honestly the best idea. Holding back hadn’t served him well and lord knows he needed help sorting some of the shit out, including the fact that Ian was obviously hesitating a lot in their physical interactions and it had started to get to Mickey even though he didn’t want it to.</p><p>“Uh…well…he’s like, holding back,” Mickey stuttered, but finally got the words out. “He won’t just <em> do </em>things like he did when we were kids. He can’t take a fucking hint at all.”</p><p>“Mickey.” Maria did that thing where she puts her notepad and pen down and leans forward, which he had come to realize meant she was about to say something she really needed him to wrap his head around. “Ian is most likely worried he is going to do something you don’t want and cause you to have a flashback or an anxiety attack. You just unveiled one of the most traumatic events of not just your life, but probably his too. And that event began with the two of you having sex. He's acutely aware that your physical contact with him has caused multiple anxiety attacks or dissociative episodes. He probably isn’t going to just jump in and lead the two of you sexually like it sounds like he did when you were younger. You need to tell him what you want him to do and verbally give him permission.”</p><p>That sounded incredibly unsexy, but Mickey thought it made sense and it also made sense that maybe he <em> would </em> freak out. Ian probably did have cause to be hesitant or worried. Mickey acknowledged what Maria was saying and agreed he had to try to "find his words when being intimate with Ian" or things might end in disaster at some point—that or they would both just become incredibly frustrated. They talked about recognizing signs when he is getting overwhelmed with their sexual activity, which left Mickey's neck and face on fire, but was necessary, and shortly after that they ended their session.</p><p>He thought a lot about what she said on the way home, and although it hadn't been that long since Ian's closeness had sent him in a tailspin, something had changed in Mickey. The time they spent together holding hands and spooning and planting forehead kisses had definitely opened him up to physical contact with Ian. It had been safe and warm and it felt like where you would start off a relationship with someone when you're a little kid. Both of them being emotionally stunted to a certain extent, that seemed appropriate.</p><p>Then they had kissed and he had meant it when he said that he was okay because if anything were to happen he knew Ian would be there. Whereas before that sounded terrifying, it then sounded comforting. And as it turned out he didn't freak out, his mind didn't leave his body, he didn't have nightmares. So it was making him feel more daring.</p><p>Their make out sessions were definitely increasing in heat, and without incident, so he was feeling bold and confident. But maybe he was being foolish. He probably was still in danger. And maybe Ian was too. He honestly didn't know.</p><p>But Maria had been right and because of all that, he thought maybe he did need to learn how to ask for what he wanted from Ian. He certainly hadn't had a problem telling other guys what he wanted them to do in the past. He should be able to do this.</p><h5>***</h5><p>The night after his session with Maria, after almost five days of making out like teenagers and rutting against each other, Ian unexpectedly rubbed Mickey’s cock through his denim. It was like Ian hadn't realized he was about to do it—and maybe he hadn’t—and he was visibly horrified. Mickey rolled his eyes, feeling genuinely annoyed because he had been undeniably pushing his groin upward, searching for some contact. He wanted to make some grouchy wisecrack or tell Ian how fucking clueless he was. But instead of grousing and saying something fucked up to Ian, who looked like he wanted to lay down on the tracks of the L, he cupped Ian’s face in his hand and leaned up to kiss the fear off of Ian’s face. </p><p>“It’s okay, Ian,” Mickey whispered in his ear, “I want you to.” Mickey guided Ian’s hand back down to his cock, and Ian took a big gulp of air while Mickey sucked on Ian’s full pink lips. “I want you to…under my clothes.” Mickey wanted to slap himself. He thought he sounded so stupid. He thought he sounded fourteen, and he couldn’t believe how embarrassed he was or how hard it was to just say “I want you to jerk me off”, but fuck if it wasn’t difficult.</p><p>But Ian wasn’t embarrassed and he didn’t seem to think that what Mickey said was stupid either. Instead, Ian looked Mickey in the eyes and gave his crooked, wicked smile, pressing his tongue into Mickey’s mouth, and covering Mickey’s lips. Ian stroked Mickey’s cock through his jeans a few more times, causing it to harden further, while he kissed him and then ran his hand over Mickey’s belly before slowly unbuttoning his jeans.</p><p>“Fuck, Gallagher,” Mickey groaned because Ian was going excruciatingly slow and he was absolutely doing it on purpose, making Mickey squirm and whine a little.</p><p>Ian laughed, not speeding up just because the brunet was impatient, and Mickey thought that some part of Ian probably really enjoyed seeing him cranky with need. Mickey had waited long enough and the second that Ian had his pants unbuttoned, Mickey reached down and pushed his jeans and boxer briefs down to his mid-thigh. </p><p>Ian’s breath hitched at the sight of Mickey’s cock as he rested his open palm on Mickey’s midriff, which caused Mickey to hold his breath. It added to the excitement and anticipation, teasing him with a touch so close that it felt a little like torture. Ian looked down at Mickey and smiled seductively before parting his lips and tasting Mickey’s mouth once more. Ian slid his hand down Mickey’s pubic hair and under his cock, capturing the base between the split of his index and middle fingers. Mickey gasped loudly, unable to stop his reaction. Ian’s response was to run his fingers up until he reached the tip where he ran all five of his fingers through the pre-cum that was dripping out of Mickey’s slit.</p><p>“Oh, fuck.” The words were more air than syllables, and Mickey thought he might fall apart. He wasn’t sure why it felt so fucking good. Ian had done almost nothing yet, but Mickey felt like he was going to come undone, like no one had ever touched him like that before. And maybe they hadn’t. Maybe no one had touched him with this level of intimacy and with the purpose that every movement was all for Mickey’s pleasure. </p><p>Ian massaged the head of his cock in a downward motion, swirling his fingers on their ascent back up. Ian finally made a fist around the head, firmly holding on as he moved half way down the shaft, pausing to run his thumb across the slit once more, gathering up another teardrop of cum. </p><p>No, no one had ever touched him like this—it was delicately filthy and Mickey thought he was going to lose his mind. </p><p>Ian firmly smeared the pre-cum on his thumb down the underside of Mickey’s cock, then grasped him again in his fist as he began to run his hand up and down Mickey’s length. Ian had his face buried in Mickey’s neck, breathing him in, soft and gentle, but sucking kisses onto him. He was playing Mickey like an instrument. It felt like Ian's was the first hand he had had on his cock in years, and he knew he wasn’t going to last long.</p><p>“I-Ian,” Mickey moaned and started shifting up into Ian’s fist.</p><p>Ian moved his mouth up to Mickey’s ear and whispered, “You feel so good, Mick.”</p><p>“I’m gonna come.” Mickey could hear himself whine and it was somewhere between a warning and a declaration.</p><p>“Come for me,” Ian commanded and then bit down on Mickey right below his ear.</p><p>And that did it. That was enough. Ian’s sexy words mixed with the delicious pain he was inflicting on Mickey’s neck tipped him over the edge. Streams of cum shot from Mickey onto his stomach and into Ian’s hand, who continued stroking Mickey’s cock with the addition of more lubrication in the form of ejaculant.</p><p>“Oh, fuck!” Mickey exclaimed and he finally grabbed at Ian’s hand to pull it away, his sensitivity becoming too intense. Mickey grabbed Ian’s face and gave him a big sloppy kiss, pulling his head down, so their mouths were sealed tight. He didn’t want to let go. He wanted to keep Ian in that kiss forever. Wanted to keep him next to him forever.</p><p>Ian didn’t want reciprocation and Mickey almost insisted, but decided that it wasn’t right for him to do that. He figured that Ian knew what he wanted and if he said “no” then Mickey needed to respect that. They were still building trust, Maria's words in his brain, and for a second he was freaked out that he was thinking about her so much while they were fooling around. But it was fleeting because he knew he needed her words; he couldn't do this without them.</p><p>***</p><p>A couple of nights later they were in Mickey's room, having just come back from a date Ian insisted they needed to go on that involved diner food, a few beers, and Ian grabbing Mickey's hand as they walked home. Things had taken a bit of a turn for the obnoxious upon their return and while Mickey had been trying to draw a beat up pick-up truck he could see on the garage floor, Ian was in the process of giving Mickey shit, trying to harass him into drawing him.</p><p>"No no no no no." Mickey shook his head and continued to grimace at Ian. "Nuh uh, Gallagher, I'm not good enough. It'll look stupid."</p><p>"Don't be ridiculous, Mick," Ian groaned. "It doesn't matter how good it is. All I care about is you drawing me."</p><p>"I-I'm not sure if I can,” Mickey said, but it had actually been an excuse and he knew it. The truth was that he remembered the drawing he had done of Ian and he was fucking embarrassed. Even talking about drawing Ian made him feel exposed. He wasn’t sure what to do or how to react, but looking over at Ian he could tell that he knew something was up.</p><p>“Why do you look guilty?” Ian asked.</p><p>“What?” Mickey even sounded guilty. <em> Not playing this off well, Milkovich. </em></p><p>“Why do you look like you did something wrong?” Ian furrowed his brow and inched closer to Mickey on the bed.</p><p>“It’s gettin’ kinda late,” Mickey deflected, completely ignoring the question. “We should probably hit the sack soon if you’re stayin’ over.”</p><p>“It’s eight o’clock.” Ian smirked and shook his head.</p><p>Mickey had no other response. He wasn’t sure what to say or do. </p><p>"Come on, Mick. I know it's been a long time and we've changed a lot but that shifty eye, cheek biting thing still means you're hiding something. I'm positive of that." Ian gave him a knowing look, and Mickey hated that with as much as they didn't know about each other, there were some things he just couldn't hide.</p><p>Mickey let out a nervous sigh. “Okay,” he said and he put down his drawing pad and pencil and got up from the bed.</p><p>“What are you doing?” Ian asked, but Mickey didn’t reply. Instead, he pulled out a large black folder that was hidden behind oversized books and brought it back to the bed. He sat across from Ian, both of them in the lotus position with their knees almost touching, and he balanced the folder of heavy card stock between them.</p><p>“What is this?” Ian asked, searching Mickey’s eyes for a clue.</p><p>“Ugh,” Mickey let out in an aggravated breath and he could feel his gut swirling with anxiety and fear. <em> What if he thinks I’m a fuckin’ weirdo? What if I am a fuckin’ weirdo? Fuck. </em> He honestly wasn’t sure, and he thought he might be a weirdo. Mickey didn’t really have a lot of experience to gauge if what he had done was in the category of creepy or not. <em> Shit. Just show him. </em></p><p>“So, I, uh, drew this a few weeks back.” Mickey opened up the folder and shuffled past the drawing of the boy keeping the dark out and a few drawings of muscle cars until he got to the drawing of Ian lying naked, drawn from Mickey’s imagination, part memory, part fantasy. He pulled it out and closed the folder, laying it on top. “I…uh…I’m sorry?” Mickey wasn’t sure if that was the appropriate thing to say, but he wasn’t sure it wasn’t.</p><p>Ian’s face was blank at first, and he picked it up and held it in front of him, blocking Mickey’s view of him completely for a few seconds that were the longest few seconds ever. Mickey felt his stomach drop and a wave of nausea came over him. <em> This is it. It’s over and we just got started again. He isn’t gonna wanna have anything to do with me after this. Fuck. I’m so fuckin’ stupid. </em>Mickey clenched his stomach and wrapped his arms around his waist, looking down at where their knees now touched, unable to look up, too afraid of what he would see.</p><p>“Hey,” Ian whispered, jolting Mickey from his self-loathing spiral. He looked up to see Ian with a curious look on his face. Not one of disgust or horror or “fuck this guy is a creeper I need out of here” but one of curiosity that was bordering on something else—something just below the surface that Mickey couldn’t yet identify.</p><p>“Mickey,” Ian said so softly it sent little chills down his spine. “You drew this of me?” he asked.</p><p>“Well…yeah.” Mickey was still feeling weird and guilty, but his nausea was subsiding and he was feeling less like jumping out the window. He was still having trouble making eye contact and he kept shooting Ian glances and then looking down, gnawing vigorously on his bottom lip.</p><p>“Wow.” Ian pulled the drawing back from his face and had an honest look of admiration. “It’s amazing, Mick.” Ian looked at Mickey and gave him a soft smile. “You shouldn’t be embarrassed. It’s really good.”</p><p>Mickey looked up at Ian again for a few additional beats and a new wave washed over him—one of relief. But he was still feeling apprehensive and like he needed to explain himself. “I didn’t even know I was doing it when I did it. I just did it.” Mickey heard himself and he thought it sounded almost juvenile.</p><p>Ian’s eyes shifted and he reached over, tilting Mickey’s head up by his chin, forcing him to look at him. “It means a lot to me, Mickey. It means you were thinking of me even if you didn’t realize it. It means you…” Ian was then the one that looked embarrassed and Mickey wasn’t sure why.</p><p>“What?” Mickey asked with wide eyes.</p><p>Ian hesitated, and his face got flushed, and it made Mickey want to hold his face and kiss away whatever was making him ill at ease. Ian cleared his throat and looked Mickey in the eye. “That you wanted me?” Ian’s words caught in his throat, causing him to squeak.</p><p>“I—” Mickey wasn’t sure what to say because it was true, but at that point he hadn’t known what to do with all of that.</p><p>“Sorry. That was stupid.” Ian put the drawing down and started to inch back away from Mickey.</p><p>“No.” Mickey grabbed Ian’s wrist, stopping him from further retreating. “I mean, yes.” Mickey shook his head. “I mean…” Mickey took a deep breath, trying to find the right words, not sure what he actually wanted to say to Ian in that moment. He struggled for a few beats and then finally looked up into Ian’s eyes, direct and determined. “I did want you. I just didn’t really understand it. But, I mean, look at it.” Mickey picked up the drawing and held it out for both of them to see, and a new wave of embarrassment washed over him. Mickey went to put it down, turning red and feeling really shy all of a sudden.</p><p>Ian grabbed Mickey’s wrist this time before he could put it down and took the drawing from him. “I am looking at it,” Ian told him. “And you?” Ian’s voice dropped down a few octaves and became husky, his chest starting to heave slightly.</p><p>Mickey looked up to meet his gaze. “Yeah?” Mickey asked.</p><p>“You looked at it?” Ian asked.</p><p>It seemed like a weird question, but at the same time Mickey felt like he knew what Ian was trying to ask him. Yeah, he’d looked at it. Looked at it after texting with Ian. After deciding they would try to be friends. Looked at it and was affected by it and used the image of it to get himself off. Yeah. He had looked at it.</p><p>“I did.” Mickey answered. Not asking for clarification. He didn’t need any.</p><p>Ian’s eyes became hooded and he put the drawing on top of the folder, looking down at it and then into Mickey’s cool blue eyes. “What did you do when you looked at it?” Ian asked, his voice low and Mickey could see him swallowing thickly.</p><p>Mickey realized he was panting slowly and his stomach was clenching again, but for a very different reason. He picked up the folder with the drawing of Ian’s naked form on top and set them on the found-on-the-side-of-the-road table. Mickey put his hands on Ian’s knees and ran them up his thighs. Leaning forward, he placed his soft and freshly chewed lips onto Ian's, tracing Ian’s bottom lip with his tongue. They kissed slowly and deeply with Ian’s hands wrapped around the back of Mickey’s head. Mickey broke the kiss, but didn’t pull away. Instead he whispered against Ian’s lips and told him his secret, all shyness falling away with the taste of Ian still on his tongue.</p><p>“I looked at it and then I got off,” Mickey said, and Ian immediately took Mickey’s lips in a fervoured and rough kiss that made Mickey’s cock start to feel firm. Mickey stood on his knees and then straddled Ian, who sat holding him still by the back of the head.</p><p>“Fuck,” Ian gasped for a moment, but then went back in for a kiss, licking into Mickey’s mouth.</p><p>“I thought about you the whole time,” Mickey breathed, wrapping his legs around Ian and squeezing him tightly while running his hands up and down Ian’s side.</p><p>Ian broke the kiss from Mickey’s lips, but then sucked a kiss onto Mickey’s neck, using a little bit of teeth to cause a slight sting. “Show me,” Ian said into Mickey’s neck in a gravelly voice that was dripping with lust and want.</p><p>“Wha—” Mickey couldn’t even get out the question. His brain started to buzz and he began to think of all the things he had actually done to himself that night and was positive he couldn’t show Ian everything. Definitely not what he had done to himself that involved his toy in the drawer. But Ian had already jacked him off. Had already seen his hard cock and saw him come—had <em> made </em> him come. Why couldn’t he show him at least some of it?</p><p>Ian must have sensed Mickey’s hesitation because he loosened his grip. “Hey,” Ian said, pulling back and looking Mickey in the eye. “Only if you want to. It’s okay if you don’t.” </p><p>Something about Ian’s look conveyed concern and passion and love and that was enough to evaporate any doubt that Mickey had in the moment. Mickey lunged forward and their lips collided, corkscrewing his tongue into Ian’s mouth and scraping his teeth along Ian’s bottom lip. Mickey let go of Ian and dismounted him. He slowly backed off of him, and standing on his knees, he took off his shirt, throwing it to the floor. Mickey then hooked his thumbs into the waist of his sweatpants, running them under the band of elastic, not trying to tease, but succeeding at doing that nonetheless. </p><p>They locked eyes and Ian looked in awe, eyes wide and almost afraid, but full of anticipation and excitement. He scooted backwards on the bed to give Mickey more room, and he could see Ian sitting on his hands, which he thought looked fucking adorable, so he quickly moved across the bed and grabbed Ian’s face to give him one more deep, biting kiss before scooting back to the head of the bed.</p><p>The kiss left them both breathless and wanting more, and Mickey was ready to do what he could to give that to them. Mickey sat further back against the headboard with his legs stretched out, his feet almost touching Ian, but not quite. Mickey was sure he could feel Ian pulsing in front of him, quivering almost with anticipation, and it was turning him on.</p><p>He hooked his thumbs in again and started sliding his sweatpants over his hips, pushing the fabric down just past his crotch, daring to look the redhead in the eye the whole time. Mickey heard Ian's breath catch in his throat and it emboldened him to keep going. Mickey ran his right hand across his stomach, feeling the hot, soft skin, and running it down the length of his quickly hardening cock. </p><p>Mickey then glided his right hand across his chest and grabbed one of his nipples between his thumb and forefinger, pinching and rolling it. He moaned softly, closing his eyes for a second before looking at Ian, who was sucking on his bottom lip. Mickey reached down and started to rub his cock through the fabric of his boxer briefs. He could feel it becoming firmer and firmer with every movement, and finally decided to remove his remaining article of clothing, peeling the fabric away slowly, lifting his bottom and then pushing them down to his thighs, causing his half hard cock to spring forward. </p><p>Ian’s breath hitched again at the sight of Mickey’s erection, like he hadn’t just seen it a few nights before when he had jacked him off. </p><p>“Fuck,” Ian whispered.</p><p>Mickey decided to remove them all the way, but as soon as he did he felt vulnerable in his nakedness because Ian was still fully clothed. There was something about it that scared him, but also excited him </p><p>He decided he needed to fix it and moved forward, crawling toward Ian.</p><p>"Mick?" Ian's eyes were huge with quandary.</p><p>"I'm not gonna be the only one naked here. You gotta take off your shirt." Mickey reached for Ian and peeled off Ian’s shirt quickly, not thinking about how close his hard cock was to Ian until Ian was half naked and had grabbed Mickey's waist, his fingertips biting into Mickey's hips.</p><p>"Fuck, Mickey," Ian breathed out and Mickey couldn't help but chuckle, tonguing the crease of his mouth seductively. He removed Ian's hands, who groaned in disappointment, and he moved back to where he was sitting before. He cautiously reached into his drawer, not wanting to reveal any other contents, and pulled out his bottle of lube. </p><p>Mickey bent his knees and planted his feet on the bed, looking at Ian the whole time, almost defiantly. He could see the need and lust in Ian’s eyes and it was turning him on. He felt like he was teasing the beautiful ginger across from him, while at the same time giving Ian exactly what he wanted.</p><p>Mickey started palming himself slowly with his right hand, while popping the cap on the lube with his left. He held his hard cock at attention and dripped a small stream of lube over the head, watching it cascade slowly in tiny rivulets down the shaft and over his fist. Ian’s breathing was becoming shallow and Mickey saw him biting his bottom lip, sitting on his hands once again. Mickey put his head back and closed his eyes before he started moving his hand, not sure he could look Ian in the eye after all.</p><p>“Mick,” Ian breathed out.</p><p>Mickey tilted his head back down and met Ian’s intense gaze, his eyes looking glassy and full of want. Without another word he began to move his fist up and down the shaft of his cock, and then swiveling his palm around the head, causing him to give a delicate moan that sounded like it came from someone else. But it didn't embarrass Mickey because he could see how Ian was responding to it, squirming and sucking in air raggedly.</p><p>Mickey rubbed one of his nipples and continued to pump his cock while looking at Ian, it becoming impossibly hard in his hand. The feeling was delicious and filthy and he <em> loved </em>it. He started to have the overwhelming urge to touch Ian and have Ian touch him. Mickey loved that Ian was watching him and it was exciting and obviously arousing Ian as he was unable to hide his erection through his sweatpants. He could see that Ian at the very least wanted to touch himself. </p><p>Mickey stretched out his legs and dug his toes into Ian’s knees. In a low voice he said, “Take your cock out.”<em> How’s that for telling him what I want? </em></p><p>Ian didn’t hesitate. He pulled his hands out from under him and pushed his pants and underwear down slightly, then reached down and gave Mickey his first actual look at Ian's cock he had had since Mickey was sixteen years old.</p><p>Mickey gasped loudly. He hadn’t been able to hold it in because Ian was magnificent—long and thick, with a hardening pink shaft and purpling head, surrounded by bright orange curls. <em> Looks like everything got bigger. </em> Mickey thought, his brain becoming fuzzy. It felt like the visceral equivalent of white noise and he realized he had begun to hold his cock tighter and started stroking himself faster, his breathing ragged and mouth going dry.</p><p>“Fuck, Gallagher.” Mickey gulped.</p><p>Ian didn’t respond, he merely sucked his bottom lip in further and gripped himself harder. Mickey started to feel overwhelmed, watching Ian pump himself and he was filled with the overwhelming urge to touch him, touch his lips and his chest and his cock.</p><p>Mickey suddenly stood on his knees. “Get up,” he told Ian, who obliged immediately. Mickey quickly moved forward until they were almost chest to chest, and Mickey could feel Ian’s warm puffs of breath landing on his face.</p><p>Mickey continued to hold his cock, but he could feel that Ian had let go of his own and sensations that ranged between a tingle and a jolt went through him every time Ian’s cock touched or landed on the back of Mickey’s hand. Mickey grabbed Ian by the back of the neck and pulled his head down until their noses were touching.</p><p>“Can I touch you?” Mickey asked, and unlike when he was asking for Ian to touch him he didn’t feel embarrassed or awkward.</p><p>“Fuck yeah.” Ian slotted his mouth against Mickey’s; the kiss was unhurried at first, but still pressing, still deep, and Mickey felt consumed by Ian for a moment.</p><p>Mickey broke the kiss and placed his forehead on Ian’s chin, looking down at both of their cocks trapped between them. Mickey stroked himself a few times and then with his other hand he took hold of Ian, who was now fully erect and Mickey could feel himself set on fire.</p><p>“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Ian,” Mickey gasped. He could feel Ian chuckle into the top of his head, but then groan when Mickey put both of their cocks together in one of his hands. Mickey wrapped his fist around their shafts, with his index finger in between, adding extra friction and a better grip for Mickey whose hand wasn’t quite big enough to make a full C around both of their cocks.</p><p>“Unh, Mick. Fuck.” Mickey could feel Ian’s stomach clench and he understood what he was doing to Ian because the same thing was happening to him.</p><p>Mickey had trouble looking away from their two cocks, hard and glistening with lube and pre-cum. His forehead had slipped down to Ian’s Adam’s apple and he was digging the fingers from his left hand into Ian’s shoulder. Ian was rubbing the back of Mickey’s neck with one hand with his other hand gripping Mickey’s waist. They were both panting with gentle moans and unintelligible words of affection slipping out of their lips.</p><p>Ian grabbed Mickey’s hair by the roots, not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to pull Mickey’s head back so that he could look at his reddening cheeks and blown out pupils. Ian placed his lips on Mickey’s, opening his mouth, which then forced Mickey’s mouth open as well. It felt like Ian was sucking air out of him, then he traced Mickey’s lips with his tongue, causing Mickey to groan loudly.</p><p>“You’re so fucking hot.” Ian pushed the words inside of Mickey and he felt like that was true. Like it had to be true because Ian said so. Because Ian was with him. Because Ian wanted him. And he wanted Ian. It had to be real. It had to be true. </p><p>They kissed like they had never kissed before and it felt like little synaptic explosions were firing in Mickey’s head—and they probably were. Those explosions traveled down the length of his body and then back up to his cock. He could feel the flutter in his stomach and the tightening of his balls, but he didn’t want to come. Mickey didn’t want it to be over yet. He wanted to keep feeling Ian’s tongue dancing with his and his teeth scraping across Ian’s lips. Mickey wanted to keep feeling the hardness of their cocks and his fist firmly holding them together, and Ian’s fingers digging into his hip and twisting Mickey’s hair. Mickey wanted to keep feeling their bodies more together than they had been in almost a decade, not wanting to lose this moment, but he couldn’t stop himself from grasping them both tighter and quickening his pace, his excitement overflowing and moving them both forward. </p><p>Ian let out a guttural sound into Mickey’s mouth that was more animalistic than a mere human groan. Ian moved his mouth from his lips, across Mickey’s jaw, stopping to give a piercing bite to Mickey’s earlobe—eliciting a little yelp—and then down to his neck where Ian could feel Mickey’s heartbeat pounding under his tongue.</p><p>Mickey felt Ian inhaling him with his mouth and nose, taking him in, possessing him. “Ian!” Mickey billowed out as Ian sunk his teeth into Mickey’s jugular, laving his tongue over the captured skin and muscle and pulsing veins. Mickey moved his hand from Ian’s shoulder to Ian’s chest, digging his fingers into one of his pecs. </p><p>“Fuck, Mickey,” Ian said without removing his mouth. “Feel so good.” Mickey could feel Ian’s stomach tighten up even more and his jaw was applying more pressure to Mickey’s neck. Mickey replied by dragging blunted fingernails down Ian’s chest, scratching across one of his nipples, making Ian growl.</p><p>Ian started to fuck up into Mickey’s hand and then reached down and grasped both of their cocks and Mickey’s hand in his own. He pulled his head away and looked Mickey in the eye, checking to make sure he was okay, and Mickey just nodded breathlessly before pushing forward to give him a biting kiss.</p><p>With both of their hands gripping tightly, and both of them moving their cocks up into their fists, Ian exploded first with a deep groan, cum shooting up between them, so that their bellies glided and slipped against one another. Ian coming between them was all Mickey needed and he came shortly after, letting out a sound that was close to a howl. Mickey threw both of his arms around Ian’s neck and pressed his whole body against his while he kissed into Ian’s mouth.</p><p>“Mmmmm,” Ian moaned against him and wrapped his arms around Mickey’s waist, both of them ignoring the mess between them. Or maybe relishing in it instead.</p><p>Mickey moaned in reply, neither of them attempting to back away from one another, their arms and fingers and mouths all still intent on exploring each other. Ian finally broke away from Mickey’s mouth and proceeded to cover Mickey’s face with puckering kisses. Mickey couldn’t contain himself and he started to chuckle because it had started to get silly and Ian was making exaggerated puckered and “muah” noises that he was pretty sure that Ian knew were ridiculous.</p><p>“Okay, okay, stop.” Mickey broke away laughing.</p><p>They held on to each other’s forearms and looked at one another, laughing at first, but then both of their expressions melted to something he thought looked like love. And he knew that’s how he probably felt—he thought he might love Ian—and that maybe Ian loved him. Mickey knew they had both loved each other at one point, even if the words had never left their lips, but he thought that it probably was true now too, but he wasn’t ready to say it. Not now. Not yet.</p><p>***</p><p>They were relearning each other’s bodies and acknowledging that both of them had physically and emotionally been through indescribable things while apart. They needed to learn their limits and wants and needs. </p><p>A dark, cloudy picture had been painted over each of them, but now they have the chance to redraft it, to change the design of their bodies. Erasing lines of pain and replacing them using various touches and long embraces. They are becoming new again in one another’s arms. A trace of a finger, lingering wetness of a kiss, slight sting from a pinch or a nibble. They can't rewrite history, but they can paint something new on the canvas, incorporating the existing scars into the design. Maybe not cover up all the darkness; it would just be dangerous to pretend it isn't there, but they can take away the shadows and add some light with every stroke and brush of a finger or tongue. Their skin against one another rearranges and adds color to everything on them, in them, around them. And it is just so fucking beautiful.</p><p>So that Saturday morning—a week and half since their first kiss and a few days after Mickey had masturbated for Ian and ended up jacking them both off—Ian lays his body on top of Mickey's looking like a man who's ready to help make something beautiful. He leans in and kisses Mickey's neck, following it with gentle bites, and then rolls his tongue over the tender skin. Ian kisses across his neck and throat, eliciting low groans and small body waves from Mickey.</p><p>Mickey is holding onto Ian with his whole body. His movement is almost involuntary, and Mickey doesn't do it consciously, he just knows one of his legs is now wrapped around Ian's waist and he’s pressing himself up against him, feeling Ian's cock hardening as well.</p><p>Ian starts to kiss down Mickey's chest, and sinks his teeth into one of Mickey's pecs, which makes him hiss and buck up into Ian, squeezing him with the one leg that had Ian in a vice grip. He captures one of Mickey's nipples in his mouth and he rolls it between his teeth, the sting causes Mickey to catch his breath and then dig his blunt nails into Ian's back.</p><p>"Fuck," Mickey breathes out the word. It's all he really can say, his brain beginning to feel like jelly. </p><p>Ian trails wet, open-mouthed kisses on Mickey’s chest and stomach, where he incorporates teeth into the play and marks the tender flesh of Mickey’s belly, eliciting low groans and deep sighs from the man under his mouth. Mickey is still holding Ian with his leg, it's now draped across Ian's lower back, and Mickey is tangling his fingers up in Ian's hair. </p><p>Ian rubs his entire face across Mickey’s soft belly and Mickey lets out a noise that can only be described as a giggle because—well, it fucking tickles—but it also has finished hardening Mickey’s cock so that he is at full mast.</p><p>Ian looks up and gives Mickey a sinful smile and then bites down on Mickey's belly, causing an "ah" sound to rush from Mickey's lips. The bite turns into gentle sucking and rolling his tongue around the softness of Mickey's stomach. </p><p>Mickey feels himself clenching and he can also feel his hard cock pushing up into Ian's chest, causing a shockwave up his body. Ian has to be able to feel it too and the idea of Ian kissing his stomach and his mouth being so close to Mickey's cock—he can barely contain himself. He feels himself rotate his hips involuntarily and he digs his heel into Ian's back. Mickey can hear his own shallow panting, and he tightens his grip on Ian's hair as Ian grips Mickey's hips roughly, causing fresh blooms of color to start to appear.</p><p>"Mickey," Ian says his name as he starts to kiss back up Mickey's chest, stopping to lick and suck on one of Mickey's nipples. Mickey moans loudly and runs the blunt fingernails on his right hand across Ian's back.</p><p>"Fuck, Ian." Mickey feels powerless, writhing and whining underneath Ian, loving every minute of it. </p><p>"Mickey." Ian looks up at Mickey's face, his mouth wide open and a lustful look in his eye. "I wanna suck your cock." </p><p>Mickey visibly gulps and squeezes Ian's body with his leg and hands, panting harder and he feels his mouth left hanging open, but can’t really seem to do anything about it. The idea of Ian going down on him suddenly causing him to go blind and deaf and send a tremor of desire up his spine. They had definitely not done this yet, but fuck if Mickey hadn't been thinking about Ian sucking his cock for weeks now. </p><p>Ian places his mouth on Mickey's nipple again, jolting him out of his head, and then he punctuates every word with an act of affection and lust. "Can"—suck— "I"—kiss—"suck"—bite— "your"—lick—"cock?" </p><p>And Mickey comes undone. He feels the pull deep in his belly and he is overwhelmed with affection and need and something suspiciously like gratitude that he thinks is stupid, but he doesn’t give two fucks about.</p><p>“Fuck yeah,” Mickey finally gasps out, pushing Ian’s head down into his nipple at first and then pulling him up by his hair and leaning up to devour Ian’s mouth, pulling on his lips with his teeth and licking into his mouth. Pulling back, he looks Ian in the eye and says, “Yes, Ian.” And he feels simply breathless and completely enamored.</p><p>Ian gives Mickey the signature sideways Ian Gallagher grin that has the butterflies fluttering around and colliding into each other. He starts to work his way back down Mickey’s body with mostly lightly bruising biting kisses, and he kisses across Mickey’s soft, smooth stomach. He licks around Mickey’s belly button and it catches Mickey’s breath and he feels his cock pulsing and he is pressing up into Ian, searching for contact and friction. Ian looks up at Mickey and smiles, knowing what he's doing, even if it isn’t something that Mickey is completely conscious of.</p><p>Ian scrapes his teeth down the tender skin between the bottom of Mickey’s stomach and the top of Mickey’s thigh. He sucks a bruise right before the crease, making Mickey groan and reach down to card Ian’s hair. Mickey can feel his cock leaning over and touching the side of Ian’s face and it feels like torture, but it also feels so fucking good; Ian is making him feel so fucking good.</p><p>Ian then grabs the base of Mickey’s cock and dips his head down, running his tongue under Mickey’s testicles and then sucking one into his mouth with the most perfect pressure.</p><p>“Jesus Christ,” Mickey moans. Ian's mouth feels amazing and he can’t wait for him to cover him with his tongue and lips and mouth.</p><p>It’s like Ian can read his mind and he flattens his tongue at the base of Mickey’s cock and licks slowly up the underside all the way up to the top where he swirls his tongue around the head and laps at the pre-cum that has gathered at the slit.</p><p>“Shit!” Mickey exclaims and throws his head back on the pillow.</p><p>“Mmmm,” Ian hums right before he places his lips on Mickey’s purple head and starts to suck, almost teasingly, while holding the base of Mickey’s cock firmly. He starts to stroke the shaft as he continues his work on the head, and Mickey can hardly stand it.</p><p>“Ian, please,” Mickey pleads. He hears himself whining, but he can’t give a fuck about that right now.</p><p>Ian lifts his head with a smile. “Please what?” he asks, but Mickey knows that Ian knows exactly what.</p><p>“You prick,” Mickey pants then says quietly, “Please put my cock in your mouth.”</p><p>“It’s in my mouth.” Ian grins.</p><p>“Fuck you.” Mickey presses his head into the pillow. “All the way in your mouth.” When Ian still doesn’t move, Mickey finally says, “Suck my cock into your mouth, you fucking asshole.”</p><p>Ian chuckles and then proceeds to plunge his head down on Mickey’s erection, taking him to the back of his throat without any hesitation or difficulty, engulfing him in wet heat.</p><p>“Shit! Fuck! Shit!” Mickey yowls and he puts both of his hands in Ian’s hair, twisting and pulling gently.</p><p>Ian hollows out his cheeks and begins to move his head up and down Mickey’s length, devouring him hungrily, gripping Mickey’s hips and ass, his fingernails biting into him. He starts with a slow rhythmic pace that makes Mickey whimper, but soon starts to move faster, causing a pool of heat to form in Mickey's belly. </p><p>Ian pulls off with a pop and looks at Mickey, while he uses one of his hands to slide up and down his shaft as he dips down again to give Mickey's balls some attention, tonguing them, making the act almost sweet with licks and delicate kisses.</p><p>Ian pulls off and looks up at Mickey. "Tell me what you like," Ian says, and Mickey's breath quickens. </p><p>"I-I like what you're doing," Mickey stutters, and he isn't sure what more to say because Ian's doing fine on his own. "It feels good."</p><p>Ian starts to pepper kisses on the underside of Mickey's shaft, talking to Mickey while he's doing it. "Just tell me if you want me to do something different. Okay? Anything." And it's that "anything" that sends Mickey into orbit because he <em> could </em> ask for "anything" and he believes Ian would do it. Just the fact that he would do "anything" to give him pleasure in this moment sends shockwaves out to his limbs and down to his cock. What Ian is doing feels so fucking good he can't imagine what more to ask for. Not now anyway.</p><p>Ian plunges his head down on Mickey's hard cock once more, eliciting a gasp that grows into a moan. Ian hums around Mickey, expressing his pleasure at the noises he is able to help the man underneath him make. </p><p>Ian's pace quickens and he starts taking Mickey down his throat again, and it's fast and sloppy and wet. He starts caressing the sensitive skin on either side of the base of Mickey's cock, running his fingers through the dark curly hair surrounding it. Mickey shivers and he knows that means he’s coming soon. He feels his balls tighten and he feels his stomach dip. It's like Ian knows, and he places one of his hands on Mickey's belly, holding it warm and tight, while he sucks Mickey down even further. </p><p>Mickey can't help it and he bucks his hips up into Ian's mouth, but Ian only chuckles around his cock, which just makes Mickey feel crazy. <em> Fuck how is this so good? </em> He asks himself and then bucks up again only to have Ian keep his head sunken onto him, looking up at him with watery eyes that are somehow smiling. </p><p>"Fuck! Ian, I'm—" Mickey thrusts upward once, twice, three times and explodes in Ian's mouth. Ian swallows down every ounce of cum and keeps sucking until Mickey roughly pulls him off of him by his hair. "Fuck, Gallagher!" Mickey throws his head back panting and then he starts to laugh. Relief fills his body, but he isn't sure what he is relieved of. He doesn't know but he is gently laughing as Ian joins him on the pillow, kissing his cheek, rubbing the tip of his nose affectionately, smiling against Mickey's skin.</p><p>"That good, Mick?" Ian asks, his lips still touching Mickey's face.</p><p>"Yeah, it was." Mickey can't stop smiling and he turns to meet Ian's mouth, kissing him lazily. "Mmmm, that was <em> so </em>good," Mickey says with them nose to nose, smiling, and he tangles his fingers in Ian's hair and kisses him again, feeling like they cleared a hurdle, feeling like they are closer to being whole.</p><p>Mickey slides his hand over Ian's chest, lingering over one of his nipples, strumming it with his thumb absent-mindedly. Mickey looks down to watch what he's doing and runs his hand down Ian's side then looks up into his smiling eyes. </p><p>"Is it okay if I don't…" Mickey can't finish the sentence, it's just too embarrassing and all of a sudden he feels like a child, vulnerable and afraid. He lets out a long aggravated sigh and shakes his head, looking down at Ian's chest. He feels frustration flooding him. Frustration with himself, and he wishes this could just be normal, just be easy. But it’s not. And that makes him so fucking discontent. The opposite of how he wants to feel right now and thinks he probably should.</p><p>Ian lifts Mickey's chin so their eyes meet. "Hey, I don't need you to do anything. I didn't do that so I could get something in return. I wanted to do it because I wanted to make you feel good, and I wanted to be as close to you as I could right then. And because I wanted to feel you in my mouth.” Ian presses the most subtle kiss to Mickey’s lips and it feels so precious to him, that his heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest. Pulling away and meeting Mickey’s eyes again, Ian asks, “And I made you feel good, right?"</p><p>"You sure as shit did." Mickey can't stop himself from smiling. "But I want to make you feel good too."</p><p>"I'm sure you can think of something." Ian smiles and rubs his thumb across Mickey's cheek bone, leaning in for another precious kiss on Mickey’s pillowy lips.</p><p>Mickey hums against Ian's mouth and feels so soft and warm;  he just can't believe that they are together in his bed, in each other's arms. It's something he never expected would ever happen again and he feels euphoric.</p><p>They're testing limits and learning what feels good and figuring out who the other person is again. They're painting a new picture, and instead of the original that was hurried and marred by external forces, this one is being done mindfully and with great care. There is still passion and grit and fear, but the only danger is from within, and they are trying to make their hearts and minds safe while still making it sexy and beautiful. And so far, it's exactly that.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello!</p><p>I decided to post today, and cut this chapter shorter than originally planned because what I have here is really it's own chapter. It just means I have to add to the chapter count. No one is mad about that right? 😁</p><p>I appreciate all your support while I've been struggling through writer's block--or more like writer's wandering brain--it has been really helpful. 🤗</p><p>The boys are making progress, but trust me that I'm working on resolution and answering unanswered questions. Don't be afraid to ask me if there is anything you feel like you still have questions about. I may or may not be able to address them in the story, but I'll try! 😃</p><p>Thanks again to my friends, well-wishers, my beta whaticameherefor, and my readers. 💞</p><p>I hope your New Year finds you well and fills your lives with blessings. 🎉</p><p>💖, </p><p>Chat Noir</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello, Kitty Cats! We made it through January somehow and I finally made it through another chapter!</p><p>I wanted to remind everyone about the tags on this fic. Like I have done before, I am not going to explicitly state what is going to happen—I firmly believe that takes a lot of aspects of story-telling away when one does that. I understand why people do, but I'm not going to. I can assure you that we have gotten through the most explicit of violent content, and nothing is comparable to that, but I still want to remind everyone that this story contains sensitive themes, and that there are other tags in play in this chapter</p><p>💖</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Things with Ian had been going better than Mickey could have expected and he was amazed that he wasn’t feeling stressed or worried around him and that their sexual intimacy wasn’t causing anxiety. Well...for the most part. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Occasionally, when Ian would lay on top of him for too long, covering his entire body, or when Mickey would find himself wrapping his legs around Ian from underneath, he would feel an itch in his brain and he would get a sharp pain in his temple or his airway would constrict, but he would immediately have them change positions, often using non-verbal cues, but trying to use his words. The words were hard though, because the feelings and reason why it was happening was hard to explain; but he felt like Ian understood and he never questioned it, he just moved his body where Mickey wanted it and the feelings would subside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Things over the three-week span since that first kiss seemed like they were going </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>well that Mickey hadn’t really wanted to think about what else they </span>
  <em>
    <span>should </span>
  </em>
  <span>be doing, which at the very least was talking about the stuff that was still left unsaid, and Mickey felt for sure like there were things that Ian was holding back from him. He could only imagine what those things were and it gave him a punch in the gut when the idea of it would cross his mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Plus, Maria had gotten him thinking about what Ian’s reactions and feelings might be after hearing Mickey talk about the trauma they went through, so there was that too. With all those thoughts rolling around in his head he was still somehow able to push them aside and not dwell on them because when they did surface he could put them away and simply, literally or imaginatively, roll over into Ian’s arms, making </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>the most important thing on his mind at that moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey also was so insulated in their affection and sexual play and simple company that he was able to avoid thinking about almost anything else, including Audre and the Chevelle. The only interruption in that was when he talked to Maria, who decided to cut back sessions to every two weeks unless Mickey's anxiety seemed to increase again, which made Mickey feel good, made him feel accomplished. The sessions did bring up some of what was hard to think about, but as soon as he got back to Ian he was able to package up all those less than pleasant ideas and put them on a shelf in the back of his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of the time—whether he liked it or not, and he kinda liked it—he was walking around in a sexy, lovestruck haze. The only other thing he could manage to do with great focus was work. The physicality mixed with the brain power it took to put the mechanical and electronic puzzle pieces together were not the same as being with Ian, but seemed to have the ability to envelop him just the same, and keep his mind focused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey did his best to avoid Rita-Mae, and for her part she seemed to purposefully make it easy on him, or maybe she was returning to her natural state. It was hard to tell. He would still see Ian talking to her sometimes and he would feel a pull in his chest and a twinge of paranoia, but he knew that it was somewhat irrational because Ian was still learning and—well—Rita-Mae was his boss and the best mechanic in the shop. However, that logic and his ability to compartmentalize didn’t stop his heart from sinking into his stomach when Rita-Mae asked them both to stay after work so she could talk to them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he tells Ian, the redhead only raises his eyebrows and starts to open his mouth to ask, but thinks better of it and goes about his business. Mickey works to keep his brain from going into overtime, which is difficult to do considering he has absolutely no idea why she would want to talk to them both.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they meet up after work and are standing in the middle of the garage wondering where the fuck Rita-Mae is, Mickey starts to sprial. He is sure it’s over. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This is it. Willie changed his mind.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Audre is too wounded by it all and Rita-Mae has taken her side and told Willie to fire him. And, really, he probably should. He doesn’t deserve a second chance. Who the fuck did he think he was?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” Ian throws an elbow into Mickey’s shoulder jarring him out of his spinning, sloppy brain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey shoots daggers at Ian, who is focused forward. “What the fuck, Gallagh—” Then he sees what Ian is looking at and his eyebrows immediately shoot up. “What the fuck is that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both stand there, mouths gaping open as Rita-Mae pulls into the back of the garage in a big orange and gray A-Team type van. It rattles and sputters, smoke coming out the back and a very obvious oil leak, as she parks it perfectly in the open space towards the back of the garage where the Chevelle had been parked previously.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What’s happening? Why is she parking it there? Fuck. That’s it. Audre’s done with me. I’m not gonna be able to finish the work on the car now. This fucking sucks.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” Mickey startles and looks up to see Rita-Mae in front of him, yelling this time instead of Ian. “Milkovich, are you fuckin' listening to me?” Her brow is knitted and he wonders how long she's been standing there talking to them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“S-sorry,” Mickey stutters and shoves his hands in his pockets. “What...uh...what are we looking at here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rita-Mae purses her lips and crosses her arms in front of her. She looks over at Ian as if to tell him he better explain it to Mickey or she will lose her cool that is apparently being held together by scotch tape.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mick, it’s for us,” Ian almost whispers to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh?” Mickey asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rita-Mae sneers and rolls her eyes. “It’s a third generation 1978 Chevy G-series Van. Three quarters of a ton, 350 cubic inch V8 engine, automatic transmission, and a catalytic converter, which is a piece of shit and obviously fucked up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How can you tell?” Ian asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The black smoke coming out the back and the fact that the exhaust smells like rotten eggs,” Mickey answers easily, which gives Rita-Mae pause and he thinks she’s about to smile, but she doesn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is your new project. Both of you.” Rita-Mae throws Ian the keys, who catches them after juggling them in his hands clumsily. “It’ll be a good learning tool for both of you to work on together. And this thing ain’t worth shit, so I’m not worried about either of you idiots stealing it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why am I an idiot?” Ian asks to which Mickey nudges him in the ribs and gives him a “shut your fucking mouth” face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry.” Ian looks down at his feet and shuffles nervously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rita-Mae cocks her eyebrow and sucks in her cheeks, waiting for the two men to pull it together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does…” Mickey lets out a ragged sigh and scrubs his face with one of his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Spit it out,” Rita-Mae says, probably realizing the two of them would have questions that she might as well get out of the way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does this mean that the Chevelle isn’t coming back?” Mickey says it so quietly he isn’t even sure he says it out loud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rita-Mae blows out a gust of air that vibrates her lips, expressing exasperation. Maybe she thought this was going to be easier, but Mickey guesses she probably didn’t. “No, it doesn’t mean that. But we haven’t all worked out the details and how it should be handled.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We?” Mickey feels like he’s pushing it to be asking her further questions, but at the same time, he just can’t stop himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rita-Mae’s face goes soft for half a beat. “Me, Audre, and Willie are all talking about the best way to handle the work on the Chevelle.” She sighs and steps closer to Mickey, who is now hanging his head. She touches his shoulder and he starts slightly. “She just needs a little more time, Mickey, and we need to figure out the best way to handle it once she’s ready. Okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey nods, but he can’t stop biting the inside of his cheek. Rita-Mae turns around to open the hood on the big orange monster in the garage. When her back is to them Ian reaches down and takes Mickey’s hand and gives it a squeeze. Their eyes meet and something in Ian’s expression tells him it’s going to be okay, and he might just believe him for a moment. Lord knows he wants to. He really, really wants to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on.” Ian gestures with his head and Mickey lets him lead him over to where Rita-Mae is patiently waiting for them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They crowd around under the hood and Mickey can’t help but get lost in what he’s looking at. He hasn’t worked on anything quite like this and he finds himself getting a little excited, a little tingly. It’s a mess. It looks like oil had been spurting around and coating the inside of this engine for years. All the belts and hoses are old and cracked and he isn’t sure how it was even driving, but he is so excited by it he wants to get the engine out right now and start cleaning it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I paid five hundred for this thing.” Rita-Mae says while she walks around opening all the doors so they can also get a look at the interior. “You two knuckleheads will take it apart, diagnose the problems then write me up a summary of the repairs that need to be done along with an itemized list of all the parts needed for the different areas.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stops and looks straight on at both of them. "We'll charge the parts to the shop, unless you can find cheaper alternatives, and we'll keep track of how long it’s in here because there'll be a small daily storage fee. When the van is done we’ll sell it and I’ll get my five hundred bucks back and we’ll pay back the shop. Whatever is left after that is yours for your labor. So, you want to be efficient, and keep cost in mind, but you also want to do quality work so that you can make a profit. What you put into this is what you will get back, but not if you fuck around. Time </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>money.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both men stand there with their mouths wide open. “I don’t understand,” Mickey says shaking his head. “Why’re you doin’ this for us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rita-Mae lets out a small sigh and shifts her eyes to the right in a near eye roll. “Like I said, it’ll be a good vehicle for you to learn on. And…” Rita-Mae releases air through her nose and crosses her arms. “I know what having a project to work on means. They weren’t sending parolees to therapy when I was twenty—at least not this convict.” She points to herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But, Willie gave me a beater to work on in my spare time and that was my therapy. You both need this.” Her face is stoic and unwavering, and her words are real, and something about it brings the sting of what wants to be tears, but Mickey is not about to allow that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey looks at Rita-Mae and then to Ian and back to her. “Thanks.” A faint smile graces his lips and she simply nods in response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is so cool!” Ian says loud enough to make Rita-Mae and Mickey both jump. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck, he’s excited.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Ian jumps behind the wheel like a little kid playing in his parents car, pretending to drive, and Mickey bites his lip so he doesn’t laugh. He and Rita-Mae both turn to look at Ian, shoulder to shoulder, and she lightly bumps into him on purpose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You doing alright?” she asks quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” He nods, both of them continuing to look at Ian who is rambling about the interior of the van and who knows what else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And him?” Rita-Mae says and Mickey turns to look at the side of her face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re doing good.” Mickey nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Mickey, I mean how is </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> doing?” Rita-Mae turns and looks at Mickey as she clarifies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Mickey looks down and isn’t sure how to answer. “Okay, I think.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, Milkovich, if he’s gonna be your man, then you better know.” Rita-Mae crosses her arms again and looks back toward Ian. “Hey, Gallagher. Turn 'er over and get out here so you can see the engine running,'' Rita-Mae calls after him and then walks away from Mickey, leaving him kind of surprised and definitely a little stunned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe it was time to take all those thoughts out of that little box he’d put them in and really look at them. Examine them and talk about them. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ugh.</span>
  </em>
  <span> That sounds exhausting and a bit scary, but at this point he has to remember that it’s okay and that it's something that he can do. Probably </span>
  <em>
    <span>needs</span>
  </em>
  <span> to do. Figuring out how and when was another story.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mickey and Ian are sitting on the shag carpet inside the “Shaggin’ Wagon”—as Ian has insisted on calling it despite the pursed lips and eyes rolls from Mickey—having a beer together and looking around the huge orange time capsule. Mickey is still reeling from his quick spiral downward, sideways, and back up, but that doesn’t stop him from admiring where they are.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite all the things that are most likely wrong with the van mechanically, the inside is immaculate and so, so, so ‘70s. With its burnt orange, wall-to-wall shag carpeting—literally there is carpet on the walls—crushed velvet front seats, built in ice chest, and moonroof, its bright orange polyester curtains, and it's bench seat—also crushed velvet—that's up against a sidewall leaving lots of floor space, the van is the land that time forgot. It also came with four leopard print throw pillows that Ian loves, and Mickey says are too gay and he hates, but secretly is totally into. The van is also warm, cozy and completely inviting, and it set the stage for them to sit really close together on the floor, flirting with each other and giving shy smiles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This thing is amazing, Mick,” Ian says as he sweeps his eyes around the interior for the twentieth time. His head rolls from one end of the van to the other and then he looks down into Mickey’s smiling blue eyes and gives him a giggling grin. “I’m really happy,” Ian says and then almost immediately his eyes go wide, like he’s surprised himself, and a look of fear flits across his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it?” Mickey shifts so he can face Ian directly. “What’s wrong, Ian?” Mickey puts his hand on Ian’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ian looks down, and shakes his head, and he doesn’t seem to be able to find his words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, it’s okay,” Mickey whispers and leans over, attempting to meet Ian’s eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s just…” Ian trails off and then finally sits with his back against the bench seat, raising his knees to his chest and then wrapping his arms around them. “I don’t remember the last time I said that. I don’t remember the last time I actually felt like that. Like this.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ian finally looks up and meets Mickey’s gaze. There are tears that are pooling on Ian’s lids and Mickey wants nothing more than to make those tears go away, or at least be able to catch them when they come falling down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Happy?” Mickey asks in a hushed voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Ian tries to smile and he grabs Mickey’s hand and laces their fingers. “I don’t know if I’ve actually ever felt really happy, except…” He lets out a gust of air, and Mickey is sure he knows what Ian is about to say. “Except when I was with you. Especially that weekend.” Ian looks down at his knees and whispers, “Before it all happened.” Mickey feels himself tense up and his stomach clenches tight as a fist. He doesn’t know what to do or say and he wants Ian to stop, but also desperately wants him to keep talking, to open up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ian puts his chin on his knees and lets out a labored breath. “And I’m afraid it’s all gonna get taken away. Just like…” Ian stops, like his lips locked shut around the words and he can’t finish his sentence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like what?” Mickey whispers, but Ian won’t look at him until finally he reaches over and grabs Ian by the chin, swiveling his face towards him so that he has to look in Mickey’s eyes. “You can say it Ian. Don’t be afraid to say it because of me. I’m tired of this shit having control over my life. I don’t want it controlling yours either. Just say it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ian takes a deep breath and looks at Mickey, eyes already watery and red. “I’m afraid it’ll get taken away from me like it did last time,” Ian says in an almost monotone voice, his eyes going dead for a moment, and it scares Mickey because it looks like Ian has gone somewhere else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not. It won’t,” Mickey says, touching Ian’s face with his palm like he’s trying to bring him back to life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t know that. You can’t promise that,” Ian says with a little more emotion in his voice. “What happened...what your father did…” Ian shakes his head slowly, looking away from Mickey again. “I know I’m bipolar, and that can account for all kindsa fucked up shit in my life, but you aren’t the only one that’s been controlled by what happened, Mickey."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ian turns his head back, but still won’t look Mickey in the eye, and he starts to cry, eyes rimmed red, tears flowing gently down his cheeks. “Sorry. That sounds harsher than I meant. I know I didn’t have to go through what you went through with your dad; I didn’t have to live with that sick fuck. But I had my own set of shit to deal with. I’ve carried it with me always, and I’ve always been so afraid. Whenever I would start to feel happy, I would just get so scared and couldn't hold on to the feeling. It just made the depressive episodes so much worse and more frequent. So when I was manic, and felt good, felt invincible, I didn’t want to take my mood stabilizers. I wanted to stay high even though it wasn’t real. I wasn’t actually happy. And...and…” Ian is struggling and Mickey can see it, but he doesn’t think that he can actually help Ian with his words; he knows that Ian has to find them on his own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And...I…I was so afraid to love anyone else because of it.” A gentle sob leaves Ian’s throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you had boyfriends,” Mickey offers, but as soon as he says it outloud he feels like it was a stupid thing to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ian lets go of Mickey’s hand and drops his knees, almost looking angry, but still looking sad and kind of like he can’t believe Mickey doesn’t get it. “I didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>love </span>
  </em>
  <span>any of them, Mickey. I never loved anyone but </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It wasn’t just that I was afraid to love anyone else, I just couldn’t, I didn’t want to. I had to believe that we were going to be together one day. Either that or I was never going to have love again." The tears are flowing faster now and Mickey is frozen, not sure how to comfort Ian. So many things he isn’t sure of right now that he feels helpless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That started looking more like where things were going, especially after…” Ian trails off again and seems to be struggling with something, looking like he might burst.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Especially after what?” Mickey asks, starting to feel unease set in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ian takes another deep breath. “Especially after I found out about you and Dylan,” Ian says quickly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about me and Dylan?” Mickey feels confused and really doesn’t know where all of this is going.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When I found out that after all that happened between us, and what happened with your dad, and you beating the shit out of me, and just everything...when I found out that you chose to be with someone and it wasn’t me…” Ian put his face in his hands. “I’m sorry, Mickey, I never wanted to say all this to you, but it hurts so bad. And on top of all that you went to prison. And I know it’s irrational, but you went to prison for protecting the guy you were with. You tried to beat Terry to death...I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>it’s not rational, but I couldn’t help but be jealous that you couldn’t do that for me—for us.” Ian’s body starts to shake, and his cries are heart breaking. “I was sure I was going to never have love again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey is stunned. He wants to comfort Ian, but conflicting emotions are twisting around each other in his mind. Sadness, anger, fear...they are infighting inside of him and he doesn’t know how to pull them apart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t love him,” Mickey finally chokes out almost breathlessly. “And I didn’t choose him over you. You and I couldn’t have been together the way you wanted, the way I would have wanted. And you had a good job, a better life. You didn’t need me around.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s bullshit.” Ian finally looks up, eyes blazing red and cheeks wet. “You have no idea if I needed you around. It just makes you feel better to believe that.” Ian sounds angry for a split second and Mickey can’t blame him because he’s right. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I always needed you around,” Ian says in a softer voice with a gentle squeak.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Ian.” Mickey feels tears start to squeeze their way out and he just doesn’t care because those tears tell a truth that is so hard to actually articulate for some reason. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey.” Mickey gets up and stands on his knees next to Ian, grabbing him by the nape of his neck and pulling his head into Mickey’s chest. “I’m sorry.” He kisses the top of Ian's head and wraps his arms around him, enveloping him tightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ian slowly reaches up and puts his arms around Mickey’s waist. “I thought I’d never have love again ‘cos I thought I’d never be with you again. I couldn’t love anyone but you.” Mickey can feel Ian sobbing against him and the torrent of emotion coming from both of them threatens to overwhelm him, but he knows he has to hold it together. For Ian. For both of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, I used to have nightmares of that day,” Ian says, pulling back and making eye contact, Mickey now letting silent tears fall down his own face, and both men with red, sopping eyes. “I had nightmares for years. Of watching them beat you. The pain I was in didn’t fucking mean anything to me because of what I saw them do to you. Every time they would come near you I would scream at them, try to get their attention on me, but that wasn’t the plan. Was it? I couldn’t just call them off, could I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Mickey whispers, sitting down, draping one of his legs over Ian’s and hanging his head down. “They wanted us to watch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Ian nods, sucking in through his nose and wiping his eyes on the back of his hand. “Terry made sure we had to live through the pain of watching the other one hurt and not be able to do anything about it. He wanted to </span>
  <em>
    <span>burn </span>
  </em>
  <span>that shit into our brains. And it worked.” Ian gives a humorless laugh. “Shit worked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And when it was all over I remember laying there, right before your cousin knocked me out for the last time, thinking that it was over. That I was never going to see you again because one or both of us was definitely gonna die.” Ian sucks in his bottom lip and rubs his thumb just below.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought you </span>
  <em>
    <span>were</span>
  </em>
  <span> dead,” Mickey says, closing his eyes for a minute and a flash of them carrying Ian out of the room runs across his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought I was too,” Ian says, not joking and it makes Mickey stop breathing. “When I woke up...well...I wouldn’t actually call it that. I thought I was dead or that I was at least dying.” Ian shrugs. “And I was.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Mickey looks up, eyes wide and frightened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I woke up and I felt like I was suffocating, everything was black and I couldn’t move.” Ian looks over at Mickey and he sees something in Ian’s eyes that he never wants to see again, it’s horror and sadness and pain, so much pain and it scares Mickey, shakes him to his core. “Everything was fading, but then something landed on me and jarred me awake. It turned it was some fucking tweakers that were dumpster diving.” Ian lets out a snicker that might have been genuine. “My heroes were a couple of speed addicts looking for shit to furnish their squat and maybe sell.” He shakes his head with a sardonic smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were in a dumpster?” Mickey says, the words traveling on a gasping breath, horrified and feeling his chest start to burn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’m pretty sure your dad intended for me to go out with the trash, probably get crushed in the garbage truck.” Ian juts his chin out and closes his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey feels a wave of nausea and he isn’t sure if he can actually listen to much more. He regrets asking Ian to talk about what was going on, but he also knows that this is the right thing to do. He hadn’t considered what Ian was carrying around from that day. Hadn’t thought about what pain still existed within him. There was proving to be a lot of it and it was really fucking difficult to listen to, but he felt he had to, that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>needed</span>
  </em>
  <span> to let him continue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was rolled up in a rug and I was naked. They took me to the hospital, but no one even knew who I was. And no one was looking for me. My </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking </span>
  </em>
  <span>family…” Ian shakes his head, and Mickey realizes that this is the first time he had ever heard Ian say anything bad about his family. He would talk shit about Frank and complain about and cry over Monica, but he never complained about the Gallagher clan over all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They weren’t even looking for me, Mick.” He looks at mickey with an intensely furrowed brow. “I told Lip I was spending time with Mandy, but I was gone for almost five days before they started looking for me. And it took them another two to find me. I had already been in the hospital for a few days at that point. I think. That shit’s unclear ‘cos I don’t know how long I was in the dumpster or how long I was actually in the hospital. I wasn’t conscious for most of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When I finally woke up I refused to talk to anyone about it, where I had been, who fucked me up. I wouldn’t say shit. Fiona brow beat me every day. One day the nurse had to kick her out ‘cos she was upsetting me so much. I know it was ‘cos she cared—at least at that point she did—but it was too much. I just couldn’t handle it.” Ian snorts and looks at Mickey. He is calmed down and is no longer crying, but Mickey is still having a hard time looking at the anguish that is left on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why didn’t you tell them?” Mickey asks, his voice cracking and his throat dry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because I was afraid he would kill you if you weren’t already dead. Or that he would come after my family. He said so many fuckin’ crazy things when they were beatin’ the shit out of us. I didn’t know what was real. I was so scared. And it just kept playing over and over again in my head. All of it. I couldn't make it stop. They had to sedate me half the time ‘cos I would be screaming and try to swing on people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was in the hospital for so long. I’m not sure how long. Maybe six weeks. I don’t know. We never talked about it after I got home. A few times Fiona tried to bring it up again—tried to get out of me who had done it, but Lip made her back off. Otherwise we never talked about it. Lip had to deal with me having nightmares and I think he figured out what happened just because of that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you serious?” Mickey says above a whisper, shocked for some reason.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I woke up screaming your name a few too many times and he had to listen to me plead for our lives in my sleep more than I even wanna think about.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck.” Mickey feels an enormous pressure in his chest as he thinks about a fifteen year old Ian screaming out in the night for him and he feels like his heart is breaking, wishing a seventeen year old Mickey could have been there hold him and sooth him, make the nightmares go away, but he was having nightmares of his own at the time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, I eventually started going to therapy here and there. I mean, it was actually  ‘cos of symptoms of my bipolar, but didn’t mean that that shit wasn’t part of it. I told a psychiatrist about it when I was hospitalized at one point and he gave me a PTSD diagnosis, and I had a few therapists that I worked with on it. All the therapy pieced together over the last nine years, and some of it really helped especially the last few years—even in prison.” Ian looks at Mickey and shrugs. “I got better. Still not perfect, but the nightmares got better, and I stopped needing to take drugs to get to sleep at night. I started trying to take better care of myself. I stopped being so vigilant, jumpy…” Ian looks in Mickey’s eyes and his voice gets real low, almost too low to hear and he says, “But I never could get rid of the fear of never having you again—never loving you again. That never went away.” Ian hangs his head, dropping his eyes almost like he’s ashamed.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey has to consider all that Ian is saying. He has to absorb and accept what he is being told—that Ian had suffered, that he had actively experienced the trauma, that it had taken years to get better, that...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That he had been treated like garbage, dumped in an alleyway. Disposed of and left for dead. It was something he never would have fathomed and didn’t want to think about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He is overwhelmed with guilt from all of it, and the fact that he’d beaten him that fucked up day seven years before also fills him with disgust.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm so sorry, Ian," Mickey whispers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's not your fault." Ian has stopped crying, but his voice is raw and weary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But I never thought about how you felt in all this. Never considered it. I don’t know why. Maybe ‘cos I saw you with Mandy a few months after and even though you looked like shit, you seemed okay. And I figured you had to be okay, otherwise why would you be hanging out with my sister.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She needed me, Mickey. You know that. I loved your sister, and it was also a way to be closer to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. I get it now, but at the time it just made me think that maybe you didn’t care so much, that you had gotten over it.” Mickey lets out a deep sigh. “I should have known that was stupid. I just never really thought about what it had done to you. I should have. I'm sorry." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't. You were trying to survive.” Ian gives him a weak smile. “And all this lately... you had to deal with your own shit. We just dealt with it other ways. I constantly lived through it and you stuffed it away until it boiled over. Which was my fault."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No." Mickey shakes his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It was." Ian almost laughs at Mickey trying to accept blame. "You might have gotten there eventually, but me trying to force my way back in? I guess I didn't think about how you had been handling it. Or not handling it. I never thought you would have repressed the memories like that or that you would deny knowing me to be able to make that easier. I didn't consider you had experienced it differently."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Seems like neither of us really got how the other felt."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Seems like it." Ian nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They are both calm now and Ian pulls out a greasy rag from his pocket to blow his nose and then laughs, looking up at Mickey. He has wiped the snot away, but has left grease behind, making a dark streak across his freckled nose. Mickey chuckles, running his thumb over the grease and wiping it on the leg of his jumpsuit. He stands on his knees again and tilts Ian's head up to meet this gaze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Listen,” Mickey says, “I don't want this to be who we are. I don't want him here between us. I don't want it to define our relationship. It's something fucked up that happened to us. Both of us together, but also separate. ‘Cos we had to deal with it on our own afterward. And our lives just weren’t the same. But, Ian, we need things to be different </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span>. There's no room for that shit in our lives and I don't want to be held prisoner by it. It's total bullshit. Those fucked up, love-starved kids aren't us anymore. It hurt especially bad when it happened to those kids because they were </span>
  <em>
    <span>together</span>
  </em>
  <span>. They were”—Mickey takes a big gulp—”making love ‘cos that fourteen year old spaz loved that sixteen year old asshole and he loved him back. That’s what happened, that’s what’s important."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ian's breath catches, and Mickey throws one of his legs over Ian's lap, hovering above him, running his hand up the back of Ian’s neck and into his hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I said it ‘cos it’s true. They loved each other and they had that ripped away from them right when they were finally realizing it, making it real. And they had a fucked up, horrible thing happen to them. And I know those kids were us and that horrible thing happened to </span>
  <em>
    <span>us</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but it feels like it was someone else, ‘cos they aren't us anymore. Not anymore.” Mickey shakes his head slowly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can't give it any more power. We can't give </span>
  <em>
    <span>Terry </span>
  </em>
  <span>anymore power. We gotta relearn each other. We're different. Our minds, our emotions...our bodies." Mickey lowers himself onto Ian's lap and looks at him intensely. All of a sudden he can feel Ian hardening under him. His eyes are smoldering and Mickey is wondering what part of all that aroused Ian, and it actually makes him want to laugh as much as it turns him on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ian pulls his bottom lip in and frames it with a smile as he runs his teeth over it. "Yeah, that's for sure." Ian reaches around and places his hands on Mickey's hips, digging his fingers in just enough to give a tinge of pain that makes Mickey's stomach swoop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey wraps his arms around Ian's neck and fully sits down, straddling Ian, griping Ian tightly with his strong thighs. He places a soft but lingering kiss on Ian's lips. "Ian, I want you to have love again. And I want that too. We have to fall in love again and not let that shit define us. We aren't two fucked up kids that got abused and were treated like garbage anymore. We can be something different. We can be anything we want."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can we just be Ian and Mickey?" Ian asks, his voice cracking and eyes threatening fresh tears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey thinks about it as he stares into Ian's eyes that have turned brown from reflecting wall to wall retro orange, and he wants to understand what it means. What does being Ian and Mickey mean? If it doesn't mean being those awkward, scared, and traumatized teenagers, then what? Who was Ian? Who was Mickey? Fuck. Is there such a thing as a couple's existential crisis? ‘Cos if there is, this might be it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, he isn't sure who they are and what being Ian and Mickey means, but he knows they'll figure it out so he says, "Yeah. We can be anything you want." He then leans in to put their lips together and he slides his tongue against Ian's, and feels their teeth accidentally clank. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And fuck this feels good. It feels really good. It feels like what he should have been feeling all these years and he wonders if Ian thinks that too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to fall in love again,” Ian tells him in a breathy whisper and his eyes grow wide as if he’s afraid of what Mickey might think of what he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey puts their mouths together again and nips at Ian’s bottom lip. He pulls back and gives a crooked smile. “Yeah. Me too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words, so simple and so small, become huge as they leave Mickey’s mouth. They expand in front of them and encompass them. All they have talked about, all they just re-experienced, everything they feel, is pulled together and covered by those words. Ian wants to fall in love again. And so does Mickey. They are wrapped in a blanket of those words and it feels heavy, but not in a bad way. It feels protective and warm and Mickey’s tummy does flip-flops, and he grows firm pressed against Ian, and he feels Ian’s body responding the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, Mickey.” Ian grabs the back of Mickey’s head and presses his face into Ian, their tongues gliding together, making their lips slick. Their mouths are open and hungry for one another and a low whine escapes Ian’s throat, which causes Mickey to surge with want—maybe need—and he twists his fingers into the ginger locks and tugs on them, pulling Ian’s head backward, exposing his neck. Mickey leaves a trail of open-mouthed kisses under Ian’s jaw and down his neck, and then goes back to the spot where he started and drags his teeth along the same wet trail.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ian gasps and reaches down, putting both hands on Mickey’s ass and squeezing his cheeks, kneading them in his hands. The action feels greedy, and it makes Mickey mewl against Ian’s neck. He starts to suck on Ian’s flesh and he knows he’s leaving marks, but he just doesn’t fucking care and Ian doesn’t seem to either. Mickey wants to feel his flesh in his mouth—bite it, suck on it, devour it. Make it part of himself. He wants Ian to be part of him in so many ways.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey trails kisses down Ian’s throat, stopping to nip at his Adam’s apple, which sends a visible shiver down Ian’s spine. Mickey then makes his way to his chest, and he squeezes Ian’s pecs while leaving sucking bites right above the neckline of the white sleeveless undershirt Ian is wearing. Mickey decides Ian’s had that on long enough and reaches for the hem of the shirt. There is no hesitation as Ian lifts his arms, letting Mickey strip him of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stop and look at each other for a moment and both smile devilishly, Mickey surging forward once again to kiss Ian deeply. Mickey’s hands go back to Ian’s chest and he runs his fingers in the curly hair that is covering it. Even after the last few weeks, Mickey is still completely amazed by the tufts of hair that cover Ian’s chest that had been so smooth and bare when they were teenagers, which didn’t seem that long ago, but also felt far way. He definitely likes this better, but it still surprises him and he smiles into Ian’s mouth as he twists some of it up gently between his fingers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They continue to kiss each other as Mickey pinches and twists one of Ian’s nipples, causing Ian’s breath to catch momentarily and his fingers to grip Mickey’s ass harder. Mickey responds by grinding down on Ian’s lap and moving his mouth down to Ian’s other nipple that he puts between his teeth, biting down with light pressure and then sucking in the decadent flesh. It’s wet and rough and short pants start to rip from Ian’s throat as one hand goes up the back of Mickey’s shirt to move over his smooth skin, and the other hand slips under Mickey’s pants, to feel the perfect globe of his ass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey starts to slide back as he kisses and bites his way further down Ian’s chest and to his stomach. He sinks his teeth into Ian’s abs over and over until Ian is a whining mess. Mickey laves his tongue over the bite marks and looks up at Ian, his eyes dark and hooded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ian,” Mickey says, his voice shaky and wrecked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ian opens his eyes and looks down to see the blue eyed man who he is now running his fingers over his scalp and gently tugging on his hair. Ian doesn’t speak, he can’t speak. He can only breathe heavily and bite his bottom lip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey sits back, straddling Ian’s knees, and he reaches forward to grab the zipper of Ian's jumpsuit, indicating that he plans to take it the rest of the way off of Ian’s body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Ian nods furiously and lifts his bottom up so Mickey can slide them down to just above Ian’s knees, and then runs his blunted nails up Ian’s snow-white thighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey’s fingers dance under the legs of Ian’s boxers, and he presses his thumbs into the spots where his thighs meet his pelvis, causing Ian to buck forward almost hitting Mickey in the mouth with his cloth covered dick that is half erect and growing by the second. Mickey lets out what sounds like a giggle—if Mickey Milkovich giggles and maybe right now he does—and lunges forward with his mouth to suck voraciously on the sensitive skin right below Ian’s belly button.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Holy—oh, my—Mick.” Ian squeezes Mickey’s shoulders and tries to get his breathing under control, but is failing miserably.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey looks up with the reddening flesh still in his mouth and smirks around it. He then lets it go and looks up at Ian with an expression that is dripping with lust and says, “I’m gonna suck you cock, Gallagher.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Ian’s eyes fly open and he looks down to meet Mickey’s gaze. “You don’t—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut the fuck up,” Mickey tells him, seating himself back on Ian’s knees with his palms resting on Ian’s thighs. “Unless you don’t want me to.” Mickey looks to the side and shrugs, obviously teasing Ian, which then seems to cause Ian to become fully erect. “Hmm, looks like you want me to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I—I do.” Ian’s head bobs up and down like a little kid, and Mickey can’t help but laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” Mickey says, then grasps the waistband of Ian’s boxers, pulling them down with no hesitation and very little struggle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ian’s erection springs forward, and Mickey wastes no time, wrapping his hand around the base of his cock and immediately swipes his tongue over the pulsating tip, tasting the salty pre-cum and causing Ian to groan loudly. He draws Ian in between his lips, and suckles firmly on the head as he starts to move his hand up and down the base. Mickey’s mouth makes the filthiest smacking noises as continues to suck the head, and Ian reaches down to tangle his fingers in Mickey’s black locks once more. Mickey removes his mouth only to then lick a fat strip up the underside of Ian’s shaft, and then without warning he draws Ian in, filling up his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ungh. Fuck.” Ian throws his head back and tightens his fist in Mickey’s hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey feels the smoothness of his shaft and the heat of Ian’s flesh in his mouth, and it makes his own cock grown firmer. He wants this. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Has </span>
  </em>
  <span>wanted this. But something had been holding him back. Mickey doesn’t want to hold back anymore. He wants to taste Ian, wants to feel him pulsating inside his mouth, and touching the back of his throat. He wants to cover his bottom teeth with his tongue and let his saliva lubricate the full erection so he can glide Ian's shaft easily in his fist, working in rhythm with his mouth. Mickey wants to hollow out his cheeks and take him deeper and deeper until he can feel Ian’s heartbeat on his tongue. And he wants to see the pull in Ian’s stomach as he writhes and pants and gasps around Mickey’s name until Ian floods his mouth and whimpers and finally pulls Mickey’s head back because he’s too sensitive for him to be in Mickey’s mouth any longer. He wants all that and that’s exactly what he gets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, Mickey.” Ian pulls Mickey’s head back and immediately hooks his hands under Mickey armpits and pulls Mickey back on his lap. Mickey’s eyes go wide. He’s somewhat startled by the sudden movement, but he’s more in awe of Ian’s strength and his ability to manhandle Mickey so easily. And he thinks he really likes it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ian cradles the back of Mickey’s head and envelops Mickey’s bottom lip, sucking on it before fully covering Mickey’s lips with his own, kissing him deeply and firmly. Ian circles Mickey’s waist with his other arm and draws him closer. Mickey can’t help but smile as Ian kisses him and he brings both of his arms up and encircles Ian’s neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmm,” Ian hums in Mickey’s mouth and then pulls away, their noses still touching. “If you’re tryin’ to get me to fall in love again, that’s a really good start.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut the fuck up.” Mickey can’t help but laugh as he pulls Ian closer to him, kissing him again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stay in their embrace, lazily twisting their tongues together, smiling into each other's mouths, nibbling on lips and rubbing noses. There are delicate sighs and low giggles, and mewling and whining in each other’s arms. And there are “mmms” and “ahhs” with declarations to whatever god can be bothered at this time of night with two men in a big orange 1970s van, who are wrapped around each other, and who both really want to fall in love again and are probably on their way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fuck," Mickey says under his breath at the door of Audre’s dive bar, stopping suddenly and causing Ian to run into the back of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Come on, Mickey, you can do this. </span>
  <em>
    <span>We </span>
  </em>
  <span>can do this," Ian says, placing his hand on the small of Mickey's back. Mickey wants to, but he doesn't move away from the touch even though they're in public because it </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> comforting and Mickey needs that right now. Needs Ian. Needs comfort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey feels the anxiety fluttering in his chest because he's so fucking nervous. They're at the bar to meet up with Audre and Rita-Mae to talk about the Chevelle—to talk about rules. And even though he hung out with Audre that one night, and she worked on being understanding and forgiving, there was an edge to her that caused a knot to form in his stomach because it just didn't seem like her. They hadn't hung out long either and even though he left thinking they were okay, they hadn’t talked since and a feeling of unease had filled him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Rita-Mae told him they were going to meet up and to bring Ian, he thought he might throw up, and had a small panic attack that he felt he managed well. He had gone up to his room and splashed water on his face. Finding Ian's flannel—that he had managed to hide from him all these weeks because he didn't want to give it up—he held it to his face and took deep breaths, inhaling the faint traces of Ian with each one. He thought it was kinda weird, but he also didn't care because it gave him comfort when Ian wasn't around and that was more important. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe he would give it back to him eventually. Or maybe he would have him wear it and then steal it back again. He knew deep down it wasn't just how it smelled or that it was Ian's. He knew it was because it—at least some little bit of it—symbolized and reminded him that Ian had nursed and supported him, and even though the circumstances around it were fucked, it still reminded him that Ian cared about him and wanted to keep him safe. And that was something he couldn't replace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His new weird—or maybe not weird—intervention had worked and he was able to calm down enough to go back to work and then tell Ian about their plans that had been imposed upon them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So here they were at the bar with Audre and Rita-Mae on the other side of the door, Mickey trying to slow his breathing with Ian at his side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's gonna be fine, Mickey." Ian gave a tender smile that really did help. "It'll probably be a really good thing. You can do this. </span>
  <em>
    <span>We</span>
  </em>
  <span> can do this," Ian repeats himself, trying to emphasize that they were in this together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ian is right. Mickey isn't going to tell him that, but he is. They could do this, and, really, it needs to be done.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey nods his head and walks through the door. The darkness and smell of stale beer hits Mickey hard, like it's the first time he's been there, but he doesn't understand why. He sees the two women a few booths up and he feels Ian give him a gentle nudge forward, which he definitely needs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They are sitting side by side with their backs to Ian and Mickey, Rita-Mae's arm around Audre's shoulders. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That's so gay,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Mickey muses to himself, which seems to help his anxiety. Mickey can hear their conversation as they approach slowly, still unaware of Mickey and Ian's presence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but do they have the stock Mopar motors in them or do they have after the aftermarket enhancements?” Rita-Mae asks Audre.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God I love it when you talk sexy like that,” Audre says and crashes her lips into Rita-Mae's. Mickey can now see Rita-Mae's profile and that her eyes go wide, but then they close, relaxing her brow and making her look soft and pliable, which Mickey sorta has trouble looking at, but then thinks about how much power and love it must take to make someone so fierce melt like that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ian clears his throat and it startles Mickey who is entranced by what he’s witnessing. Rita-Mae pulls away and her eyes go wide again, looking embarrassed. Audre turns to them, and she looks like she's trying to smile, but it's not reaching her eyes, and it punches Mickey in the gut.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey,” she says, and her greeting sounds friendly, but Mickey just doesn't feel it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey," Mickey waves awkwardly and slides into the booth across from Rita-Mae with Ian close behind. He feels Ian’s hand on his thigh and it immediately relaxes him, making him so grateful that he is with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whaddya you guys want?” Audre gestures to her drink as she stands up from the table. “Usual?” she says as she points to Mickey.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, thanks.” Mickey nods, obviously nervous, but trying to smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How ‘bout you?” Audre quirks her lips as she looks at Ian.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll come with you.” Ian jumps up from the table and heads to the bar with Audre.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Calm down, Milkovich.” Rita-Mae rolls her eyes and takes the final swig of her beer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey lets out a ragged breath and runs his rough hand over his face. “I’m trying. I can’t help it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rita-Mae lets out an exasperated sigh and rolls her eyes just as Audre and Ian are making their way back to the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey turns to look at Ian, who gives him a big toothy grin, and he returns his hand to Mickey’s thigh as he sits down. He takes his shot of whiskey immediately and a gulp of beer. When he sits the bottle down on the table he looks up and realizes they are all looking at him with very different expressions. Rita-Mae’s lips are pursed and one of her eyebrows is quirked up, obviously thinking his quick consumption is overly dramatic. Audre has a slightly amused, but still somewhat sad look on her face, and Ian is looking at him adoringly, like a love struck puppy. Mickey likes that one the most.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Mickey feels that covers it and doesn’t think he needs to say more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, you know I’m not one to beat around the bush.” Audre jumps right into the conversation and Mickey feels a rock growing in his stomach. “This is probably gonna be awkward at first, but fuck it. I’m not interested in talking about what happened—we all know what happened. And it’s never gonna happen again.” Audre looks at Mickey with eyes that tell him it won’t because if it does she’ll most definitely kick his ass. “We came here to talk about finishing the work on the Chevelle, so let’s talk about finishing the fuckin’ work on the Chevelle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You—you still want me to finish the work?” Mickey asks in a small voice, sounding very timid and unlike himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get it together, Mickey,” Audre tells him bluntly. “I know we haven’t talked since the other night, but everything I said still stands. I’m still not over it. I’m not gonna lie, but I’m ready to start getting over it. I figure the only way we can do that is to get back to work on the car.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey nods, and looks down where he’s started picking the label off of his beer bottle. “Yeah. Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But there’ll be rules,” Audre says and her gaze goes between both Mickey and Ian.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey nods again, and feels a subtle smile on his face. He had expected there to be rules if they ever did bring the Chevelle back into the garage, and he was honestly grateful for them, feeling like showing Audre and Rita-Mae he can follow the rules will be a step closer to earning back their trust and his friend. Certainly not something he ever thought he'd be grateful for, but he is nonetheless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Audre looks over at Rita-Mae and nudges her with her shoulder, and gives her a quick and flirty smile that Rita-Mae shakes her head at, obviously trying not to smile back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” Rita-Mae places both palms on the table and starts to lay down how they’re going to handle the situation. “The Chevelle will be back at the shop on Monday, but you will not be working on it before or after work unless I am there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Mickey says eagerly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You will work on the car during business hours and on a schedule just like all the other cars that come into the shop.” Rita-Mae pauses to see if there are any questions. “Because of this, you will get your regular share of the labor cost instead of the higher rate you were getting when you worked on it outside of work hours. Is that clear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Yes.” Mickey is still feeling nervous, but the reality that the Chevelle will soon be back in his life is also filling him with excitement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d like you to still search for parts,” Audre says, “and anything you find that we can use that saves money, I’ll give you a finders fee.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to do that.” Mickey shakes his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t have to, but I want to, and I think it’s fair.” Audre gives him a genuine smile. “And who knows, Mickey, if things go well then maybe we might end up doing some parts hunting again, hmm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey recognizes it for what it is. It’s a peace offering. Or a potential gift of absolution. It’s definitely a message from Audre to Mickey that says “chances are, things are gonna be alright” and that “we’re gonna be friends again soon” and probably “I can’t wait to get greasy with you in a rusty salvage yard full of tetanus and promise”. He’s not positive, but he’s pretty sure that’s what it says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Mickey smiles back, “that would be really good. Are there any other rules?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you fuck up again and I’ll beat your ass two ways from Sunday,” Audre says and then takes a gulp of her beer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll also get canned,” Rita-Mae adds humorlessly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Got it.” Mickey looks down and feels his face getting red. He’s probably looking down for too long because Ian jabs him in the side. “Owe, what the fuck, Gallagher?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That didn’t hurt.” Ian rolls his eyes and grabs his beer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey looks up and sees that Audre’s eyes have turned kind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen,” she says. “It’s gonna be alright. I have faith in you.” Audre says it and Mickey believes it, which makes his heart swell. Having her believe in him means more than he ever imagined it would, and certainly more than almost anything else he has ever had in his life. It relaxes him and makes him feel better, not just about the situation, but also himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Plus, I’m told you got a dopey looking redhead that follows you around all the time, keeping an eye on you.” Audre quirks an eyebrow and smirks. The statement causes Rita-Mae to do the closest thing he’s ever seen her come to laughing out loud and causing him to feel flush with embarrassment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait. I’m dopey looking?” Ian protests pointing at himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s some other redhead. You don’t know him. No big deal,” Mickey teases him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ian puts Mickey in a headlock, who then retaliates by digging his knuckles into Ian’s ribs until he howls and lets go. They are both chuckling as Ian reaches up and flits Mickey’s hair back into place, smiling down at him with his big heart eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, you, uh...Want to explain this?” Audre gestures between Mickey and Ian, tilting her head to the side. Both she and Rita-Mae are looking at Ian and Mickey with curious humor, waiting expectantly for an answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” “Yes.” Mickey and Ian say simultaneously, respectively.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey sits back roughly, blowing all the air out of his lungs and scratching his eyebrow with his thumb.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re up, kid,” Audre tells Ian with wide eyes and a smile. Rita-Mae also sits back in her seat, looking at the ceiling like she doesn’t really want to participate in the conversation, but also does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um...well…” Ian rings his hands and takes a sip of his beer, gulping it down nervously. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Zero Chill Gallagher.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Mickey rolls his eyes and crosses his arms in front of his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know how much Mickey has told you—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Almost fuckin’ nothin’,” Audre says, making Ian grimace slightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aren’t you therapist types supposed to respect people’s process and shit?” Mickey asks her, letting out a grouchy “pft” and frowning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, respecting your process this last time around didn’t seem to work, did it?” Audre shoots back and Mickey rolls his eyes again and takes a swig of his beer. She’s not letting him off the hook today and he figures he deserves it at least a little bit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” Ian seems to reset and sits up a little taller. “Well, we were together when we were kids—teenagers. And something really shitty happened that drove us apart. Then—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t sugar coat it if you're gonna tell the story, Mary Poppins,” Mickey interrupts Ian and then looks over at Audre and Rita-Mae. “Ian was fourteen and I was sixteen. We were fucking for like six months and had one weekend where we realized we were...really into each other…” Mickey looks over at Ian quickly and then turns back to the women in front of them. “My father caught us fucking in my room and almost beat us both to death in front of each other. Thought Ian was dead for like months. And he threatened to kill Ian in front of me if I ever saw him again. So, I didn’t.” Mickey shrugs and all three of his companions look at him like a second head has sprung from his neck, and he seems a little surprised that he was able to blurt that out with such ease, but really he’s just kind of tired of the story. Tired of that being their reality and where they started from. Like he had told Ian days before, he doesn’t want to give that shit power like he had for so long. Forgetting it happened and dancing around it and fearing the words being spoken out loud had been part of the problem all these years. Mickey just didn’t need it to live inside himself like that anymore, and if they wanted to know the truth then they could know the whole truth...well, at least a lot of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, I tried to push it once a few years later and he beat the shit out of me so there’s that too,” Ian says as he grabs a cigarette out of Mickey’s pack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Mickey points to Ian, “that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, how the fuck did you end up at the shop?” Rita-Mae finally chimes in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Funny story…” Mickey covers his lip with his index finger half covering a fake smile. “He stalked me and flirted his way into a job so he could get on me again.” Mickey actually does laugh at that point, and Ian shoves him hard in the ribs. “Ow, fucker. Stop doing that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were the one stalking me.” Ian looks at him, jutting out his chin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever.” Mickey’s eye rolling is hitting maximum overdrive and he rubs his ribs, scowling at Ian.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I…” Ian looks into his beer like he’s about to confess something and it makes Mickey queasy because he looks so serious and he isn’t sure what he’s going to say. “I never stopped feeling the way I did about him, and when I got out of prison I wanted to try one more time to be with him.” The confession is sweet, but also a bit overwhelming when he hears it told to someone else. Mickey looks down at the tattoos on his fingers and thinks that now would be a good time to be able to hyperfocus on something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ian looks up at Rita-Mae and Audre. “So, yeah, I figured out where he was and when I got released I...flirted my way into the job.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought he was fucking Willie.” Mickey curls up his lips humorlessly and thumbs his nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Wait. How did you even know to do that?” Audre asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, I unfortunately did a lot of things when I was younger to survive so I know—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Naw, I didn’t ask how you knew </span>
  <em>
    <span>how </span>
  </em>
  <span>to do that. Your special skills aren’t surprising. I mean, kid, don’t take this the wrong way, but your demographics, the fact that you’re gay and the place you grew up, your record...I mean look at you. We can assume you learned how to work it.” Audre lays it down, causing Mickey to grimace and Ian to laugh. “I asked how you knew </span>
  <em>
    <span>to </span>
  </em>
  <span>do that. How did you know to flirt with Willie and try to charm your gay ass into a job there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey turns his body so he can fully look at the side of Ian’s head. “Yeah, how </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> you know to do that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh…” Ian shifts uncomfortably. “Well, I had someone ask around about the shop and the owner and they happened to find out they knew someone that had worked there years before that was a friend of a cousin of a friend or something, and they told him that Willie was gay. So, I…” Ian shrugs, but still won’t look at Mickey.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who the fuck did you have asking around that would know someone that was the cousin of the friend of some asshole that worked at the shop? Who would you ask that would even know where I—” Mickey cuts himself off and sits back with his mouth gaping open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were talking to Iggy,” Mickey says with a dry mouth and he gulps down his beer. “I knew something was up with you two. You were talking to Iggy while you were in prison, weren’t you?” He swings his head back and looks at Ian.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I—” Ian doesn’t seem to know how to answer so he just nods his head instead and looks into his lap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who the fuck is Iggy?” Mickey is surprised that Rita-Mae is involving herself in the conversation, but he imagines they are kind of like a soap opera right now and that has to be at least a little entertaining.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My fucking older brother, who I hadn’t talked to since before I got locked up.” Mickey puffs out air and shakes his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re obviously shocked,” Audre says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, this is fuckin’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>shocking</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Mickey then turns to look at Ian. “There are like a hundred reasons I can think of for why you shouldn’t have talked to Iggy—why you wouldn’t even want to—like, I just can’t believe you did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mad?” Ian asks and he sounds like a seven year old that just got caught trying to hide the dish he broke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know how I feel,” Mickey says honestly, but his eyes soften. “I don’t want to be. But I also don't wanna talk about this now. We </span>
  <em>
    <span>will</span>
  </em>
  <span> talk about it later, though.” Mickey widens his eyes and it's obvious Mickey is telling Ian not asking him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ian nods and then they both become painfully aware of their audience. “That entertaining for you?” Mickey looks at both of the women across from them, eyebrows arched on his forehead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it feels a little like couples counseling, which I fucking always hate doing, but at least now I have a better understanding of shit,” Audre tells them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you two got some shit to work out.” Rita-Mae huffs a little chuckle and drinks some of her beer. “But I get the anxiety attacks now. Especially if you thought he was fucking Willie. Bad enough you were flirting with him, Gallagher.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t shame him. He was just trying to get his needs met,” Audre says, causing Rita-Mae to roll her eyes yet again and shrug. Mickey can’t tell if Audre’s being sarcastic or if she means it, but he settles on it probably being both.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait…” Audre holds up her hand and tilts her head back like she's searching for words on the ceiling. Mickey can see the wheels turning in Audre's head and he's worried about what brilliantly unfunny bullshit she’s about to spew. “So your father beat and almost killed you and your teenage lover? Who was Ian.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Audre.” Mickey sounds testy and he’s losing patience with the conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And then you saw your new father figure try to fuck your past lover? Who was Ian.” Audre moves her finger back and forth like she is trying to track the conversation that she is mostly having with herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, Audre, yes,” Mickey grouses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Man, Freud would have a field day with this shit.” Audre sits back, satisfied with herself, and Ian laughs out loud, throwing his head back, causing everyone in the small, dark bar to look at them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you laughing at?” Mickey looks at Ian, slightly snarling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was funny.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you know about Freud?” Mickey asks him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you not know about freud?” Ian returns, sounding cocky as fuck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That's not an argument.” Mickey shakes his head at Ian.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, if it were, he would have just won it,” Audre says and looks at Mickey with a sardonic smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Man, you two got shit to work out for sure,” Rita-Mae repeats herself, and earns a little shoulder shove from Audre.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck this. Let’s get drunk.” Mickey downs his drink and raises it up to tell the bartender to get them a round of shots and beers ready.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Audre commands Mickey’s attention. “I’m glad you guys told us and I’m glad you’re okay. You guys obviously care about each other and I’m happy you found one another again, even if it is creepy as fuck that Ian’s a big stalker.” Audre giggles, teasing Ian, who laughs along with her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey and Rita-Mae just shake their heads at them and both sets of eyes roll away toward the wall, possibly breaking the eye rolling record for a single conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The mood continues to lighten and the four of them get down to some serious drinking. At one point Mickey touches Ian’s elbow gently and looks down at Ian’s drink. “You okay?” he whispers, knowing that he’s personally pretty fucking buzzed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ian nods and smiles. "It's only two beers. I'm fine."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I just want you to be careful." Mickey can't help but get a little lost in the freckles around Ian's cheeks and he wants to kiss him so bad, wants to grab his face and taste the beer and nicotine and subtle sweetness of Ian's mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm good. I'll only have one more. I promise." Ian reaches over and cups Mickey's cheek. "I'm gonna kiss you," Ian says, but moves forward so slowly that Mickey has time to pull away or stop him, but he doesn't. He doesn't stop him even though the voice in his head is telling him that he's in public and everyone will know he's a faggot and is screaming that this is dangerous—kissing Ian in public is </span>
  <em>
    <span>dangerous</span>
  </em>
  <span>. But Mickey doesn't stop him because he doesn't give a shit about that voice. He just wants Ian to fucking kiss him. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>wants </span>
  </em>
  <span>to kiss Ian. And so he does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stumble through Mickey’s door at two AM, lips locked and hands roaming, almost falling to the ground. They are laughing and smiling and looking at each other adoringly. And it feels so fucking good to Mickey that his heart starts to beat with more force in his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had been all over each other at the bar, and Mickey is sure that at least part of Ian’s attempt at devouring him right now is because Mickey had not only accepted his advances in public, but had openly reciprocated. And, really, it had gotten a little out of control, causing Audre to howl with delight, but other patrons to look away with a scowl or stare openly with wide eyes. All it had done to Rita-Mae was cause her to huff a lot and insist on driving them back to Mickey’s. It seemed that she had insisted because they were obviously drunk, but she also quite soberly stated that it was because she needed both of them alive for work Monday morning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Articles of clothing start flying off, but they only detach their lips when they positively have to, and try really hard not to. Mickey feels hot, like his flesh is on fire and he can’t get his clothes off fast enough, can’t get </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ian’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>fucking clothes off fast enough. They tumble on the bed in their nakedness, and roll around on each other kissing, licking, tugging, nipping, and sucking wherever they can, feeling elated, feeling high.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey can’t keep his mouth off of Ian. All of Ian. Every single part of Ian. And he finds himself lying between Ian’s parted legs, going down on the redhead, who has been reduced to a wiggling heap of moans and gasps. Mickey’s taking him deep in his throat, feeling him on his tongue and running his shaft through his lips. Trailing his hands up Ian’s thighs, he looks up to see his blissed out face, head full of orange curls that he's let be natural more and more lately. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey is pretty sure it’s because of that one morning that they woke up and Ian had freshly shampooed hair from the night before, no product or chance to blow dry, just natural curls that were twisted around his head from Mickey fisting it all night. Mickey had run his fingers through Ian’s locks, made a “mmmmm” noise and said, “Fuck, Gallagher, your hair is so sexy like this. Easier to grab and everything.” That seemed to do it and on the nights he was pretty sure he was going to sleep over or when they would go on what Ian insisted on calling dates, he would magically have an undoctored head of curls that fell softly across his forehead and ears. Mickey loved it and it admittedly made his dick twitch every time Ian took off his cap after work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now Ian is throwing back those same red curls as his mouth gapes open in a silent scream, and it makes Mickey want Ian even more than he did when they first fell into Mickey’s room. He’s so fucking beautiful that Mickey starts to feel a buzzing in his chest and heat pooling in his core. He sucks Ian down harder, one hand resting lovingly right above Ian’s groin, and the other digging into his hip. It sends tremors down Ian’s body, which causes Mickey to feel like he’s going to lose control. He wants Ian so bad at this moment. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He wants him </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey moves his head back with a pop and starts to crawl up the body of the big redhead who is now panting and doing something that sounds like whining. Mickey straddles Ian and whispers wet in his ear, “I want you. I want you inside me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ian moans and Mickey feels Ian starting to roll his hips as he sucks on Mickey’s shoulder. Mickey reaches for his drawer, getting out his lube and condoms when he feels Ian go still. He turns back to look at him and sees the lust-filled look that had been so gorgeously displayed across his face replaced with a wide-eyed look of concern. Mickey raises up and plants his lips on Ian’s and starts to kiss him, Ian readily reciprocating the kiss, running his hands up Mickey’s back, but then he breaks away again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Mickey. Stop,” Ian says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it?” Mickey looks at him with alarm, continuing to lay on top of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think we should do this,” Ian tells him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Why?” Mickey sits up now, still straddling Ian’s abdomen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not like this.” Ian shakes his head and sits up, stroking Mickey’s hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are fuckin’ talkin’ about?” Mickey is incredulous and feels insulted. Feels hurt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We're drunk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We're not that drunk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Drunk enough that we shouldn't do this.” Ian gently attempts to push Mickey off of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s bullshit, Ian.” Mickey gets off the bed entirely and grabs his boxers and puts them on so quickly he almost falls over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s not.” Ian shakes his head. “We could barely walk a straight line right now. You know it doesn’t take much for me to get drunk with all the meds I take.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said you were fine,” Mickey retorts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well…” Ian looks stumped. “I lied.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck you.” Mickey flips Ian off and grabs a smoke and lights it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, Mickey,” Ian whines.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know what?” Mickey looks at him with raised eyebrows. “You can fuck off. Get the fuck out!” Mickey yells. He feels wounded, feels rejected and he just doesn’t want to look at Ian anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going anywhere,” Ian says, crossing his arms defiantly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey picks up Ian’s boxers and throws them at Ian’s face. “I said get the fuck out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I'm not going anywhere.” Ian puts on his boxers in one quick motion. “You're drunk and last time…” Ian takes in a long breath through his nose and let his shoulders fall, looking toward the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck off, Gallagher. You don’t fucking want me then get the fuck out of here,” Mickey yells at Ian, who looks up at him with shock and confusion on his freckled face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Ian asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t—” Mickey’s breath hitches and his words are caught in his throat. He can feel one hot tear squeeze itself through Mickey’s defenses and roll down his cheek before he smashes his cigarette out, unable to continue smoking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Ian says, reaching out and grabbing Mickey’s wrist, who resists at first. Ian refuses to let go of him and is able to pull Mickey back towards him. “Do you think I don’t want to be with you? To fuck you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey lets out a staggered breath and refuses to meet Ian’s gaze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mickey, I want you. I want you in every single way I can have you, but not like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey looks down at him, brow knitted and pushing his top lip into his teeth with his fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want our first time to be when we’re drunk,” Ian says shyly and he looks down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not our first time.” Mickey says, trying as hard as he can to continue to feel rejected and wounded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know what I mean.” Ian looks up into Mickey’s eyes, and he looks so sad that Mickey feels like his chest might cave in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ian pulls Mickey closer, parting his legs so Mickey can stand as close as possible. “It’s been so long, and I’ve thought about this and I’ve wanted it, but it means too much to me for it to be some drunken night that might not fully be remembered. I don’t want that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey reaches down, places his palms on Ian’s face, looking down into sad eyes that are pooling with fear and sorrow, but also with love and desire. Mickey knows he’s right, and he hates that he’s right, but he also knows that if they’re drunk the first time Ian enters him after nine years of separation and heartache, they are both going to regret it. He places a chaste kiss on his lips and then one on each cheek bone, letting a small smile tell Ian he understands. Ian lets out a choked sigh that was threatening to be a sob, and he wraps his arms around Mickey’s waist, laying his head on his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll be ready soon, Mickey,” Ian tells him and hugs Mickey close to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.” Mickey nods even though Ian can’t see him and he buries a kiss on the top of Ian’s head, wrapping both arms around him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can we just lay here?” Ian asks and it’s the sweetest request, and it makes Mickey feel guilty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Ian.” Mickey’s voice cracks and he knows he’s in danger of crying real tears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ian pulls back, resting his hands on Mickey’s hips and he looks up at him. “You don’t have to say that. Don’t say that.” Ian plants a kiss in the middle of Mickey’s chest. “Please don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey nods because he can’t speak, isn’t even sure what words he would say if he could, and he cups Ian’s face, who nuzzles into it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They get back in bed, lying next to each other, Mickey with his head resting on Ian’s outstretched arm, and Ian tracing the outline of Mickey’s features with his fingertip, lingering on Mickey’s lips. Mickey curls into Ian and they kiss each other delicately and with care, holding on to one another and sighing with each touch. Mickey drifts off to sleep, grateful that Ian stopped them, grateful he didn’t leave when he told him to, grateful he’s in his bed right now, and grateful they’ll be ready soon. Ian knows they will, and Mickey does too.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello again, everyone. You may have noticed yet another chapter added. I do believe that this is the true chapter count, and even though I have continually moved the goal post, I don't think it is going to move any more, which means that we have two chapters left to go! I am hoping to have the next chapter up in two weeks, but will keep people posted.</p><p>Also, thank you to everyone who stuck with me over the last five or six months, and especially through the holidays! It has meant a lot to me and probably a lot of how I was able to keep writing.</p><p>I hope your are well, and remember to take care of each other and love yourselves.</p><p>(Also, wear a mask and wash your hands )</p><p> 💖,</p><p>Chat Noir</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello Kitty-Cats!</p><p>We now find ourselves at the penultimate chapter for our little story. In my stubbornness and refusal to once again recant what I insisted was "only two chapters left", I have created a beast that is almost 30,000 words long. It gives me nervous giggles to be honest, and I really hope that it meets expectations.</p><p>Remember, mind the tags so you won't be shocked if something comes up you've been told might come up. 😁</p><p>See you on the other side!</p><p>💖💖💖</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mickey feels the warmth of the sun on his face coming through the window before he is fully awake. It feels good even though his head has a pulsing sensation that is a surefire sign of a low grade hangover. And he feels another sensation that makes goosebumps pop out from the skin on his shoulders. The sensation of being watched. Before he can open his eyes and see what’s causing it, he feels a dip in the bed and the smell of coffee fills his nostrils, and he pulls it deep into his lungs, letting out a pleasured sigh as he exhales.</p><p>“Good Morning, Sunshine.” It’s Ian’s voice and Mickey feels a smile creep across his face when he remembers falling asleep in his arms, which means that Ian is indeed sitting on his bed with a cup of coffee that <em> better </em>be for him.</p><p>Mickey cracks one eye open and looks up into a beautiful pale face, sprinkled with cinnamon dust and sporting a wide open smile. Mickey can’t help but smile back and he pulls himself up in a sitting position and accepts the cup of coffee that Ian hands him.</p><p>“What time is it?” Mickey asks, sipping the piping hot cup of caffeine and sugar—maybe too much sugar, but Mickey doesn’t mind because Ian made it for him and is serving him in bed, sitting next to him, outlined by the glowing light beaming into the room, and looking fucking sexy as hell.</p><p>“It’s about nine,” Ian says and he reaches over and runs his hand up and down Mickey’s still covered thigh. <em> He can’t keep his hands off me </em>, Mickey chuckles to himself as he feels the hot liquid wash down the sleep and start to clear the hangover headache.</p><p>“Why are you up so early?” Mickey tilts his head and looks at Ian, a little concerned. They didn’t go to sleep until almost four in the morning, so why was Ian awake? And he looks like he has been awake for a while.</p><p>“I couldn’t sleep.” Ian shrugs and smiles, but Mickey isn’t buying it, his eyes not matching the expression he is attempting.</p><p>“What’s going on?” Mickey sits up straighter and leans against the headboard with a grimace.</p><p>“I’m okay,” Ian says.</p><p>“Why don’t I believe you?” Mickey shakes his head.</p><p>Ian lets out a deep sigh and crosses his arms in front of him. “I’m okay. I just shouldn’t have drank so much last night. I said I was going to drink three and I actually had five. I get more drunk on the meds, but also the next day it just doesn’t feel like they’re working. It’s hard to explain. It’s like an emotional hangover.”</p><p>Mickey feels sadness wash over him for Ian, and for a split second images of all that Ian has had to go through over the last nine years because of his mental illness flashes in front of him. He tries to shake it loose from his brain, but all that does is make it land heavy in his chest, and cause the dull pounding in his temples to intensify for a moment.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Ian.” It’s all Mickey can say and he looks down into his coffee.</p><p>“Why are you sorry?” Ian says with a smile that is warm and gentle even though his eyes are still sad. “You don’t have to be. It’s just something I deal with and it’s a good reminder not to drink so fucking much.” Ian lets out a little laugh that he's pretty sure is designed for Mickey’s benefit and less because Ian actually thinks any of this shit is funny.</p><p>“I’m still sorry that you have to go through all this. That you’ve had to go through it all.” Mickey starts to caress Ian’s forearm that is attached to the hand on Mickey’s thigh.</p><p>Ian just smiles, a real smile—one that is loving and sweet and says how much he loves that Mickey cares—and he leans over and kisses Mickey on the cheek, letting his lips linger and heat up Mickey’s face.</p><p>“I’m okay.” Ian nods. “And I’m sorry I woke you up.”</p><p>“Then why did you?” Mickey teases him with mirth in his still sleep-filled eyes.</p><p>“Because I have to head home,” Ian tells him and Mickey feels a little punch in the gut. He doesn’t like Ian referring to the Gallagher house as his home, which seems ridiculous, but also is true. </p><p>A weird sensation starts to bubble up from his stomach and works its way up, snaking around his ribs and up under into his heart. Mickey can feel it pushing up on his Adam’s apple and wrapping its fingers around his temples like it might squeeze some realization out of him. And what’s that? He doesn’t want Ian to call the Gallagher house his home? Because why? Because he wants to be his home? <em> Because he wants to be his home. </em> </p><p>Mickey wants to be Ian’s home. </p><p>He can feel his mouth go dry and a little shiver goes down his spine, which he’s sure looks weird to Ian because he quirks an eyebrow, grabs Mickey’s cup and sits it on the found-on-the-side-of-the-road table.</p><p>“You okay?” Ian asks. “What’s wrong? Do you not want me to leave?”</p><p>Mickey takes a few beats to answer. Maybe too long because Ian’s eyes grow with concern. </p><p>“No, it’s not that. I’m okay,” Mickey finally says.</p><p>“Then what is it?” Ian asks.</p><p>“It’s nothing.” Mickey shakes his head trying to buy time to come up with some bullshit to get Ian off his back. “I was just thinking we need to talk about some stuff, but it can wait.”</p><p>“About last night? About me not wanting—”</p><p>“No, Ian, not that,” Mickey cuts Ian off, but then realizes that would have been a good excuse. He takes a deep breath, searching the file in his brain that is labeled “last night”, and attempts to pull something out. Then he finds it in between telling Audre and Rita-Mae about their past and doing that first round of shots. “We just really need to talk about you and Iggy.”</p><p>“Oh, fuck.” Ian crosses his arms and looks at the ceiling.</p><p>“Hey.” Mickey runs his hand across Ian’s back. “I’m not upset. And we can talk about it later or tomorrow or whenever I can see you again. Okay?”</p><p>Ian turns to look at Mickey and he can tell that Ian is trying to deduce whether Mickey is lying or not and might actually feel different than what he’s saying. Probably because Mickey doesn’t look angry and only looks confused and sad, Ian believes him. And maybe Mickey is confused and sad about Ian talking to Iggy. He isn’t sure because he hadn’t given it much thought, but at least he had managed to divert Ian away from what he was really thinking about—that he wants to be Ian’s home. </p><p><em> How fucking gay is that? </em> Mickey smiles to himself as he looks down at his hands. <em> F-U-C-K U U-P. Yep, that feels about right.  </em></p><p>“Okay.” Ian nods. “What about tonight? Do you have plans?”</p><p>“That’s a weird fucking question, Gallagher.” </p><p>“Is it?”</p><p>“When do I ever have plans? And if I did you would know; I’ve been with you like twenty-four hours a day.” <em> Whoa </em> . <em> I’ve been with him twenty-four hours a day </em>.</p><p>Ian let’s out that boisterous Ian Gallagher laugh that hasn’t changed since he was an awkward, wiry teenager. The one that was sometimes embarrassing, but always adorable.</p><p>“Yeah, okay. You’re right.” Ian looks at Mickey. “Just thought maybe you might. I mean, speaking of Iggy, you haven’t talked to your brother in a while.”</p><p>Ian is right. He hadn’t seen or talked to Iggy in weeks and he is starting to feel like a shitty brother. They had just reconnected and Iggy was proving to be someone he wanted to be around and maybe could trust and as soon as things had gotten crazy and then started to progress with Ian, Mickey had kind of forgotten about him. He felt bad about it, and thought he should try to talk to him.</p><p>“Yeah, you’re right. Maybe I should try to call him. Maybe he can tell me how you guys got to be prison pen pals.” Mickey can’t help but smile, realizing he probably isn’t angry about them talking to each other, but the verdict is still out.</p><p>“Shut the fuck up.” Ian nudges Mickey, who chuckles in return. “Let me know. I gotta go home.” <em> There’s that word again </em>. “I promised Liam I would do something with him today. Kid’s lonely and my family…” Ian just shrugs again, and Mickey feels like he understands, and he’s sure that at least part of it is that Ian doesn’t want his little brother to feel more abandoned than he already does since their oldest sister and Liam’s guardian had split town the year before. </p><p>Ian probably doesn't want Liam to feel abandoned the way Ian probably had so many times growing up—the way he did when he was missing and lying in a hospital thinking he was dying with no one looking for him. <em> Fuck the Gallaghers. </em></p><p>“Hey.” Ian draws his attention away from what was promising to be a dark train of thought, and he grabs Mickey’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Give me a morning breath and coffee kiss goodbye.” Ian smiles as he brings his mouth closer to Mickey. Mickey closes the gap between them and smiles into the kiss that is sweet and sour, but gentle, lingering, and oh-so-sexy. </p><p>Mickey brings his hands up and covers Ian’s cheeks with his palms, looking into the emerald eyes in front of him. “Mmm, Gallagher, you better leave before I make you stay.” </p><p>“Fuck.” Ian sighs, resting his forehead on Mickey’s. “Yeah, I better. Got a day of video games, horror movies, and junk food ahead of me. Need to get a jump on it. We’re going to brunch too, so I gotta move.” Ian looks at his big chunky watch that Mickey finds ridiculous, and then jumps off the bed.</p><p>“Brunch?” Mickey’s eyebrows raise and he wants to laugh.</p><p>“That’s what Liam said. He wanted to go to ‘brunch’, so I’m taking him to brunch. Kid’s been going to some prep school on a scholarship. So...brunch.” Ian smiles and shrugs and then leans in to kiss Mickey’s forehead. The gesture takes Mickey’s breath away because, even though it’s the most innocent of kisses, it’s sweet and intimate and it makes Mickey’s pulse race way too fast for Saturday morning. <em> Gallagher is gonna kill me </em>. He smirks and they say their goodbyes.</p><p>***</p><p>After Ian leaves, Mickey slowly starts his morning routine, taking his time, trying to be mindful and also relax. He isn’t sure what to do with himself, but he feels like he should do something. He cracks open his notebook and goes to the back where he has secretly been drawing pictures of cats that he has found on the internet that he thinks look badass and like a cat he would want to have. </p><p>Mickey refuses to give up the idea of having a feline friend even though he still isn’t sure he actually could or should have one. But he likes drawing them, not as much as he likes drawing cars or even pictures of Ian (which he has started doing more and more), and he thinks that it’s probably good for him to expand his skills. </p><p>Mickey looks at the five drawings he's done and smiles at his progress, which he feels has come a long way quickly, and works on the last drawing he had started several days before. Ian was in the process of convincing him to take a drawing class even if it's an online one. Mickey usually waves Ian off with a "pft", but he's starting to warm up to the idea and thinks that really learning to draw might be something he wants.</p><p>While Mickey is drawing his mind starts to wander to what Ian said earlier. He really think about Iggy and realizes that not only has he not reached out to his brother, but Iggy hasn’t reached out to him either. He actually never responded to a message Mickey had left him weeks before, now that he thinks about it.</p><p>Pulling out his phone, Mickey starts to scroll through his call log. The last message was the night he had walked Ian back to the old neighborhood, and Mickey is starting to get worried, but also feeling like an asshole for not noticing before.</p><p>He starts to text his brother, but then decides fuck it, he’s just going to call. Mickey taps on his brother’s name and the phone rings once, but abruptly makes that obnoxious series of beeps that never mean anything good has happened, and a recorded female voice surrounded by weird static says, “You have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer…” Mickey hangs up, not needing to hear more. Now he’s really worried and feels the lump in his throat growing, his old friend here to remind him what it feels like to be anxious and on the verge of freaking out.</p><p>Mickey takes a few deep breaths and tells himself not to make any assumptions and work himself up. Instead, he calls Ian, who he hopes by this point is at least already near the Gallagher house. </p><p>“Hey, Mick, what’s going on?” Mickey hears Ian’s voice and a calm washes over him that makes his scalp tingle and his cheeks warm up.</p><p>“Hey, Ian,” Mickey says. “I tried to call Iggy and his phone is disconnected, so I’m…” He can’t quite get the words out to say he’s worried. Can’t quite tell Ian how he feels about the situation, but he figures he probably doesn’t have to.</p><p>“Oh, shit, Mickey,” Ian says in almost a whisper. “You want me to ask around? Maybe ask Kev and Vee if they’ve heard anything?”</p><p>“Could you?” Mickey asks. “I’m sorry. I know you got plans and I’m not tryin’—”</p><p>“Shut up,” Ian tells him. “This is important, and it’s not gonna take a ton of time out of my day.”</p><p>“Yeah, alright,” Mickey says, exhaling through his nose and feeling a little better now that he has Ian on the line and on the case.</p><p>“I’m close to the house. I’ll just stop at Kev and Vee’s real quick,” Ian says.</p><p>“As long as you're sure it won’t make you late for brunch.” Mickey attempts to make a joke and it seems to land because he hears Ian laugh softly.</p><p>“I think there is still time for brunch.” Mickey can hear Ian smiling and feels more tension leaving his body. “I’ll call you back or text if I hear anything. Okay?”</p><p>“Yeah, sounds good,” Mickey says. “Thanks, Ian.”</p><p>“K. Bye.”</p><p>“Bye.”</p><p>They hang up and Mickey sits on his bed not sure what to do with himself at this point. No matter what the outcome might be with Iggy, he knows he can’t just sit on his bed all day being worried and waiting for Ian to come back. He feels a little pathetic and on the verge of feeling sorry for himself when his phone dings.</p><p>Expecting it to be Ian, he picks it up to see that it's actually, and quite surprisingly, Ana. Mickey’s head draws back and he lets out a little gasp. Another person he hasn’t talked to since things had accelerated in his life so many weeks before.</p><p>“Shit,” he says out loud to himself and taps on her message.</p><p><b>Ana:</b>  Mickey. How are you mijo? 😟 I haven’t talked to you in a long time. I want you to text or call me. ☎️</p><p>He knows it isn’t a request he can just turn down, but he isn’t sure if he can focus on both his concern about his brother <em> and </em> the inevitably heavy conversation that would be the result of him talking to Ana.</p><p>As he’s lost in thought the phone rings and he sees it’s Ian calling.</p><p>“That was quick,” Mickey says breathlessly, like he had run to grab the phone. “What’s going on?”</p><p>“Kev saw Jamie in the bar last week,” Ian starts, and Mickey feels like he has already said too many words and needs to cut to the chase.</p><p>“Yeah, okay, and?” Mickey can’t extract the irritation in his voice no matter how much he would like to.</p><p>“Iggy got picked up a few weeks ago,” Ian tells him. “He’s in County.”</p><p>Mickey is both filled with relief that his brother isn't dead, but also dread that his brother is yet again in jail.</p><p>“Is it bad?” Mickey asks.</p><p>“I’m not sure, but Vee said it didn’t sound like he was gettin’ out anytime soon,” Ian tells him honestly and Mickey is grateful, but also kind of hates it. “Kev said you should talk to Jamie.”</p><p>“I don’t have his number.” Mickey says and he can’t help but feel sad.</p><p>“I figured. Kev said he'd get it from him next time he’s in the bar. It might be good for you to talk to him anyway. Sounds like he’s doing good. He had a baby.”</p><p>“What?” Mickey had known that Jamie’s girlfriend was pregnant, but he hadn’t thought about it since that night. </p><p>“Yeah, you’re an uncle,” Ian tells him and his voice sounds positive and airy. “Sounds like he’s working a regular job, Mick.”</p><p>“Wow.” Mickey feels like it’s all a lot of information, and maybe a little too much to process. “That’s...that’s really great.”</p><p>“You okay?” Ian asks with concern lacing his voice.</p><p>“Yeah…” Mickey thinks he’s okay, but isn’t totally sure. “I think so,” he says honestly, but he isn’t positive his honesty makes a difference at this point because even if he wasn’t he would tell Ian he was, not wanting to take Ian away from his baby brother today even if only mentally or emotionally. He didn't want him to worry and take up that space. Plus, as much as he knew it was good for the kid, Ian hanging with Liam was also really good for Ian.</p><p>“Okay.” Ian doesn’t sound like he believes him. “Call me if you need me, Mickey.”</p><p>“I’m fine, Gallagher,” Mickey attempts to reassure him, using his best you’re-being-fucking-annoying voice.</p><p>Ian chuckles a little, and Mickey smiles even though he knows Ian can’t see him.</p><p>They say their goodbyes and hang up, and Mickey would be lying if he said he didn’t feel lost in this moment. Lost and stuck, not sure what to do next. And, really, he can’t do much. Not about Iggy and Jamie anyway. But he can do something about Ana, so he bites the bullet and texts her back.</p><p><b>Mickey</b>:  Hi Ana. Sorry. A lot's been going on.</p><p>He gets a text back almost immediately and he feels like she had to have been sitting on the phone waiting for his response.</p><p><b>Ana</b>:  I know, Mickey. 💗</p><p><b>Ana</b>:  I want to see you. 👀 Can you come by today?</p><p>Mickey looks at his phone with wide eyes. Can he go by today? Can he? He can, but does he want to? He's pretty sure that he is feeling afraid. He is. He isn’t sure he can handle the heaviness, but if not now, then when? He can’t avoid her and, really, he shouldn’t want to. </p><p><b>Mickey</b>: Yeah. I can come over whenever.</p><p><b>Ana</b>: I’m free all day. Why don’t you head over now? 💃</p><p>Her use of emojis always makes him laugh and today is no exception. He knows it's out of habit from texting with her grandkids, but he imagines she also knows it would probably put him at ease, and it does.</p><p><b>Mickey</b>: Okay. I’ll leave here soon.</p><p><b>Ana</b>:  Good. 🙂 I'll get some empanadas ready. 🥟🤤</p><p>Mickey feels heavy, but knows this will probably be good for him, and staying alone in his room will only result in him dwelling on what's going on with Iggy and thinking about how he should talk to Jamie. It's that added feeling of pressure that you really can only get from family. So, he gets ready to go, does a few grounding exercises—'cos that's just who he is now—takes a deep breath, and heads out the door.</p><p>***</p><p>Ana keeps her promise, and as soon as she opens the door, Mickey's nose is filled with the sweet smell of fresh baked empanadas entwining with the warm aroma of coffee. He feels like a cartoon character floating along, being led by his nose to the mouth watering treat. <em> God, I love her, </em>Mickey thinks to himself, but he doesn’t have time for that sentiment to sink in and give him a chance to over analyze what it means because Ana is right there in his face looking up at him.</p><p>"What are you doing?" Ana snaps him from his daze. "Get your ass in here," she says with a smile and brings him in close to her, encircling his waist in her arms.</p><p>“It smells so good.” Mickey sighs his words and feels her small warm frame embracing him, filling him with the feeling of acceptance and comfort, and for the first time ever he feels compelled to put his arms all the way around her shoulders and draw her close. It's something he's never done, having only lightly hugged her back when she's attacked him with affection. He hadn't really known how to handle it the first twenty times, but something was so different this time and he held her as tightly as she held him. </p><p>Then out of nowhere, his whole body sags against her and he feels himself start to shake and a pressure build in his chest, like a wall is about to break open. Ana seems to sense immediately that things are off and drags him into the living room, kicking the door closed with her foot, all the while maintaining the embrace. </p><p>Mickey is crying, tears soaking Ana’s shoulder, and the cries coming from deep in his chest vibrate her body. She still doesn’t let go. Doesn’t say a word. She just holds him and lets every bit of sorrow, relief, anger and fear leave his body. This isn’t the first time he’s broken down in the last few months. It’s not the first time he’s cried on someone’s shoulder. But something about this emotional outburst is different; something about it feels transformative. </p><p>He feels the pressure releasing, the valve opening more with every convulsion of his chest and gravelly sob that escapes his throat. And somehow Ana absorbs it all. Never wavering. Never letting him fall to the ground. Supporting his body weight and the weight of his feelings all on one tiny frame with two strong arms.</p><p>***</p><p>Mickey eventually calms down, but time has lost meaning. He isn’t sure if they have been standing in the living room for the bursting of the emotional dam for a few minutes or if it’s been an hour. He just isn’t sure and Ana doesn’t seem to care, which makes it even harder to tell. She never once complained or felt unsteady as she squeezed him tightly and he let go completely. At one point he thought to himself for a split second that there might not be anything stronger than a mother’s arms, which then brought on another wave of gasping sobs.</p><p>When Mickey finally lets go of Ana and backs away, she pats him gently on the cheek and tells him to go wash his face and come to the table when he’s done. Her face is warm, knowing and unfazed. Only love and understanding and acceptance left behind.</p><p>Mickey joins Ana and they sit and have coffee, the warm liquid cutting through the thickness Mickey feels in his mouth and throat, and the heat also grounding him at the same time, connecting him back to his body.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Mickey says, looking down into his mug.</p><p>“For what?” Ana says with all sincerity as she picks up an empanada and puts it on his plate. </p><p>“For losing my shit.” Mickey looks at her with confusion written all over his face.</p><p>“But why should you be sorry about that?” She takes a sip of coffee and sits back in her chair, analyzing his face. “Everyone loses their shit. If that’s what you needed to do then I’m glad you did it.”</p><p>“But I cried all over you, and…” All of a sudden Mickey can’t come up with another point. He doesn't’ really know what he’s sorry about and he feels his face redden.</p><p>“If you’re embarrassed that’s one thing, but you don’t need to be sorry. You don't need to be embarrassed either for that matter. I’m an expert at snotty noses.” Ana leans over and squeezes his hand, she looks at him with a knowing smile and whispers, “You needed to let it all out, mijo. I’m glad I could give you that.”</p><p>Mickey doesn’t know what to say, and for a moment he thinks he might start crying again, but he squeezes Ana’s hand back instead and a subtle smile finds its way to his face. When he opens his mouth his first impulse is to apologize again, but instead he says “Thank you”, closes his eyes, and releases a heavy sigh.</p><p>“Anytime, Mickey. You may not understand it and you might forget, but know that I’m always here for you.” Ana pushes a plate under his nose. “Now eat something.” </p><p>Mickey obeys and bites into the pastry in front of him that Ana had obviously made with her own hands. “This is so good!” Mickey exclaims as his eyes close from the sheer pleasure he is receiving from the hot peach filling encased in slightly sweet dough.</p><p>Ana smiles, a hint of pride glinting in her eyes. “I’m really glad you came over, Mickey. I wanted to talk to you about everything that’s happened. I know you have a lot going on that I don’t know about or understand, but I want you to know you can tell me anything." She stops to look in his wide, still red eyes, seemingly waiting to see if he can handle what she's about to say. Mickey nods at her acknowledging what she's saying, but doesn't actually speak.</p><p>"I know about a lot of what has happened at work and with Willie. I’m not happy with him at all. But I also know about Ian and it sounds like he’s someone that you care about. And that makes me so happy, mijo.” Ana squeezes his hand a little harder and a smile breaks out across her face. “You deserve someone who loves you, and someone for you to love. I’m just so sorry that my clueless, asshole husband made things look ugly.”</p><p>“I—” Mickey’s words get caught in his throat. He wants to say it wasn’t Willie’s fault, but he also doesn’t feel like he’s innocent, and that he does have some part to play in the heartache and drama of the last few months. At the same time, all that Mickey has been through is so much bigger than Willie. It’s bigger than Ian or Mickey being gay or the death of his homophobic, asshole father. It’s bigger than his trauma and his current struggle to learn how to live like a “free” man. What Mickey feels, what he’s gone through and is going through, all that he has cried about and what is gripping him at this moment, is bigger than all of the sum of its parts. And the parts themselves are humongous and heavy and full of emotions that Mickey doesn't even have the names for yet.</p><p>“Mickey.” Ana’s words bring him back out of his thoughts and he looks in her almond colored eyes and sees nothing but concern, nothing but caring, and he just doesn’t get why he can’t see that and understand it all the time. </p><p>“A lot’s happened, Ana. And it’s not all about Willie. Or Ian. There’s just been so much.” Mickey’s voice squeaks and he takes a deep breath.</p><p>“Do you want to tell me about it, mijo?” Ana asks him. And the thing is, he really does.</p><p>So Mickey lets everything out. It’s like a therapy session only he doesn’t stop, there is no uncomfortable silence, he isn’t waiting to hear what Ana thinks, and he’s not trying to stop and figure out what anything means. He just lets it all out and he isn’t holding anything back. </p><p>Even after recounting the details of his life slowly to his therapist, or in pieces to everyone else around him, he still hasn’t gotten it all out of his system. Or maybe because he hasn’t gotten it all out at once to one person while also allowing his feelings to roam free does he then release it all in a torrent with some tears, some fist pounding, and a few moments of grinding his palms into his eyes. There are ragged sighs and humorless laughs and many sniffles, and at the end, Mickey feels reborn, different, like a layer of dead skin has been removed, but he also feels exhausted.</p><p>Ana never flinches, and he realizes at the end of his long, expressive, if not rambling, speech that she not only has been fully attentive, holding his hand the entire time, but has also expressed her feelings about every word, either with a soft noise or a slight change of her facial features or a nod of her head. She listens to everything he says and seems to hold his words as precious as they land in her ears. Somehow none of it is judgemental and all of it is comforting and full of love. </p><p>She is there for him and only him in that moment and no one is paying her to do that. No one is forcing her or making her feel obligated. Ana sits and listens with no harsh judgement, the only motivation being that she cares for him, and it feels really good.</p><p>***</p><p>After his second spiral and some time where Ana reassures him and tells him sweet and wonderful things she thinks about him, Ana and Mickey settle into conversation that is lighter, which includes how to make an empanada, what the family is going to do for Tre’s baby’s first birthday, and her naughty granddaughter who has been ditching school, and how she would handle it if she was her kid, but “parents these days are soft” and “they should leave her with me for a week and I’ll straighten her little ass out” and “aye, yai, yai, she’s such a smart girl, I hope she gets it together”.</p><p>Mickey smiles over at her and he wonders what it would have been like if he had had Ana in his life a lot sooner. He doesn’t know if anything would be different, but he thinks it probably would have been a little more bearable, and he might have even learned to accept himself sooner. That thought then brings him back to something he had been thinking about since he had talked to Willie that day.</p><p>“Did you know I was gay?” If the question seems out of the blue, Ana doesn’t let on that it is, and she pulls her lips in and gives him a little smile.</p><p>“Let’s go outside and have a cigarette, huh?” Mickey nods and follows her out. They sit on the back steps like they did several weeks before and it feels warm and inviting. They both light up, and she looks at him softly. “I suspected,” she tells him, “but I figured if you were and wanted to tell me you would.” Ana shrugs and smiles. “Maybe I should have just asked you and put you out of your misery.”</p><p>“How—why did you—ugh.” Mickey is suddenly frustrated, feeling like more people knew something he thought was so well concealed than he feels comfortable with. He feels like somehow he has failed despite the fact that it actually doesn’t matter now, and never really did.</p><p>“I have lived with Willie since I was sixteen and have <em> known </em>he was gay since I was in my mid-thirties. You pick up on some things. You never talked about girls, or ever being in a relationship, and you just had this weird loneliness around you that I’ve seen in a man that can’t actually be himself and express who he loves.” She looks at him out of the corner of her eye and he knows that man is Willie. “That’s part of why I tried to set you up.”</p><p>“To test if I was gay?”</p><p>“Oh, god no. I’m not that big of an asshole. Because you were lonely. It made me sad to see you lonely and hurting. I wanted to make that go away. I hate when the people I love are in pain, Mickey.”</p><p>He feels a warmth inside at hearing that she loves him. She has said it before, but for some reason it means more right now, and he feels another tug on his tear ducts. <em> Fuck, I swear Gallagher is making me soft. </em> He smiles to himself, quirking his lips up and looking at Ana again.</p><p>“Mickey.” Ana, who had been smiling, suddenly looks sober. “I wanted you to come over for several reasons. I’ve missed you, and I was worried about you. But I also wanted to talk to you about Willie.”</p><p>Mickey feels all the air leave his lungs and anxiety fluttering in his chest. </p><p>“Listen. I’m not okay with what he’s done. But I have been dealing with this for years and years. Some things got figured out sooner than others. After a lot of screaming and yelling or weeks of silence, I finally  accepted who he was. And it happened a long time ago. Who he wants to have sex with doesn’t bother me. Not now. It just bothered me that he was never actually going to love me the way I wanted him to. I love him. He’s my family. He’s the whole reason I have my beautiful kids and my amazing grandkids.” She sits back and looks at Mickey with an indecipherable look on her face. “You wouldn’t be in my life either. </p><p>“He’s my best friend and we made something beautiful together that keeps growing and becoming more amazing everyday.” She smirks and looks down, letting out a breath that carries a small laugh that has some humor, but also some sadness. “He’s also an asshole with some kind of delusion that he’s still twenty-five, and he has done some fucked up things. But, the worst thing he did wasn’t that he tried to have sex with a man or someone besides me—I haven’t wanted his sorry ass since Clinton was President. It wasn’t that he tried to do it at the shop, which he promised he wouldn’t do again, so fuck him for that too. No.” She shakes her head slowly. </p><p>“The worst thing he did—whether he meant to or not—was try to fuck someone he had some power over,” Ana says sternly and with some anger in her voice, and the honesty and grit of the statement takes Mickey’s breath away. </p><p>“Yes, he needed someone else to work at the shop. But he let Ian work there because he thought he was going to get to fuck him. I don’t blame Ian. He’s young and was trying to get close to you. I mean who wouldn’t. Look at my sweet little convict! Hmm?” Ana reaches over and grabs his chin, somehow also managing to squish his cheeks. </p><p>“I’m so happy Ian did what he needed to do so he could be with you. I don’t have to worry anymore about you being lonely.” Mickey blushes at her statement, even though he thinks that she’s probably right, and his heart flutters.</p><p>“But I’m not happy with Willie. He knows it was wrong. I know he apologized to Ian, to you, to me...apologies aren’t quite enough.” Ana lowers her eyes and lets out a long stream of air. "I want you both to be welcome here. To come for the baby's party and Sunday dinner… Promise me you won't let what happened stop you."</p><p>Mickey thinks about it. It's a hard thing to think about. The fact that she wants Ian around makes him feel elated and light but it's also scary. It puts something around their relationship that makes it more serious and more <em> real. </em>Then there is Willie, and what happened, but he thinks they can get past it. He hopes. He really really wants to.</p><p>"I promise, Ana. It'll probably be awkward as hell at first, but I think we can. I mean, I gotta talk to Ian too," Mickey says.</p><p>"I'm sure it'll be fine." She smiles up at him and something about the way she looks at him tells him she's right.</p><p>“What did you mean though that apologies aren't enough? What are you going to do?” Mickey sits up, his stomach sinking, eyes gone wide.</p><p>“I don’t know.” Ana shrugs. “I can’t break up my family. We are partners in crime. Always. But maybe I need to let him go. I’ve been somewhat selfish. I always told him once the kids were all grown and had their own lives we would have to talk about it. But we never did. I just told him to keep it out of the house because we didn’t need anybody from the outside disrupting our family. It was only when I found out he was using the room at the shop that I had a meltdown. But that was stupid too because it wasn’t really truly what it was about.”</p><p>“You’re not going to kick him out are you?” Mickey can’t hide that he’s actually concerned about Willie as much as he doesn’t want to be.</p><p>“Are you worried about that asshole?” Ana asks, and he can tell that she’s surprised and also finds some humor in it. “Mickey, he'll be fine. We both will no matter what. We are going to do what is best for the family and best for the business. That might mean he finds another place, or I accept that he might actually find a relationship with someone who he can give his whole self to. Or both. Who knows.” She shrugs and takes a drag of her cigarette. “But no matter what he does, we all stay together. Whether he lives here or not, he has family obligations that are not negotiable. And no matter what...we still love each other. Just not like that.”</p><p>“What about you?” Mickey furrows his brow, suddenly feeling sadness for Ana.</p><p>“What about me?” She looks at him sideways with a confused grin.</p><p>“Are you going to find someone else...to love you?” Mickey’s voice is small and he almost whispers that last staggered part of the sentence. He knows he looks sad and feels like it isn’t fair that she has also not been able to be with someone that <em> she </em>can give her whole self to. It’s sad and it’s relatable and he just doesn’t like the fact that she might feel that way.</p><p>“Ah, who knows? Maybe. I did have an affair once.” Ana blows the smoke out her nose and starts laughing.</p><p>“You what!?” Mickey’s eyes are huge and he is literally feeling symptoms of shock.</p><p>“It was a long long time ago. Is it actually an affair if your husband knows about it? Anyway, it lasted about a year. Another white boy. I apparently have a type. He wanted to take me away, move to the West Coast or some bullshit. It was very romantic, but I wasn’t going to leave my kids and grandkids. They were way more important to me than some bullshit love affair with another guero that probably wasn’t going to last. I’m happy where I am. If someone comes along fine, but they have to fit into my life ‘cos I’m not fitting into theirs. Fuck that. But I’m good, Mickey. I don’t need a man to make me feel whole—to make me happy. All I need I already have.” She smiles gently and crushes the cigarette under her heel.</p><p>Mickey considers what she’s said and feels her shoulder against his as she leans on him. It feels warm and comforting and he turns just enough to see her expression from his peripheral vision. Her brow is relaxed and she’s looking out into the backyard, a little lost in thought, but not worried, not distressed. She seems content. </p><p>Content. </p><p>The feeling that so many weeks ago he had gotten a glimpse of and has been working his way back to ever since. Even with all this shit with Willie, Ana is still at a place in her life where she is content. He longs to be where she is, with an unfurrowed brow and a peaceful look on his face. He’s almost there. Mickey is so close. </p><p>He knows there are still many struggles and conversations and bullshit moments of recollection wrapped in anxiety and stupid self-realization, but he also knows that those things could come and go and he could still maintain or get back to the contentedness that looks so beautiful on Ana and he also really believes now that he deserves. Mickey deserves to be content, and he is sure that soon he will be.</p><p>***</p><p>Mickey returns home late in the evening as the sun sets and the air starts to chill. He climbs the stairs, hoping that Ian, who had texted earlier in the day saying he’d be there tonight, hurries his ass up because the need to see him is making him feel like he’s burning up inside.</p><p>When he reaches the door he hears a rustling inside and realizes the door is unlocked. Mickey swings it open, ready to jump into a fight, but instead he finds Ian sitting in the lotus position on his bed with a big dopey grin on his face.</p><p>“What the fuck, Ian!” Mickey yells. “You coulda got shot!”</p><p>“You got a gun?” Ian asks, unmoved by Mickey’s exclamation.</p><p>“No, but—” He looks at Ian who is still smiling at him, but with a somewhat devious look on his face. Mickey stops and takes in Ian’s expression and feels a tingling sensation on the crown of his head. Fuck, he’s sexy. Mickey’s breath catches and before he can stop, he finds himself crawling on top of Ian’s lap, wrapping his arms around his neck and smashing their lips together. Ian responds by reaching around and grabbing Mickey’s ass, causing him to smile against Ian’s lips.</p><p>Mickey pulls back and looks at Ian, blue eyes searching his face as he holds Ian’s head in his hands.</p><p>“Well, hello.” Ian smirks then leans in for a nibbling kiss.</p><p>“Hey.” Mickey smiles, and pushes his tongue between Ian’s lips one more time in order to feel the inside of his mouth.</p><p>“Mmm,” Ian moans, “What’s up?”</p><p>“Missed you,” Mickey says against Ian’s lips. It’s not a lie, but the whole truth is that talking with Ana made Mickey feel so incredibly lucky to have Ian in his life and he just wants to inhale him right now.</p><p>“Oh, fuck yeah,” Ian whispers in a husky voice and then kisses down Mickey’s neck, moving his lips back up to bite tenderly on the spot right below his ear, making Mickey feel boneless for a second. “I missed you too,” he says between kisses and soft bites then pulls away from Mickey’s neck. “I got here as fast as I could.”</p><p>“I fuckin’ forgot I gave you a key.” Mickey kisses the corners of Ian’s mouth. “I’m so glad I didn't have a gun.”</p><p>Ian laughs and leans back further, looking at Mickey with admiration. “I’m sorry I scared you though.”</p><p>“Who said I was scared?” Mickey tries to sound tough, but ends up smiling and it makes him feel shy.</p><p>“Mickey,” Ian says, face growing serious, “Do you think we should talk before we do anything else?”</p><p>Mickey let’s out an exasperated breath through his nose. “No,” he tells Ian at first, but then looks in Ian’s eyes and sighs. “Yes, I do.” He climbs off of his lap and sits down next to him. </p><p>Ian giggles a little, but leans over and kisses Mickey’s temple. The gesture feels so precious and caring that Mickey almost jumps back on his lap, but he reluctantly restrains himself.</p><p>“We do, we need to talk about Iggy,” Mickey says.</p><p>“Yeah,” Ian nods in agreement. “We do, and I’m really sorry he’s locked up.”</p><p>Mickey nods back, acknowledging what Ian has said, but not really sure he's ready to process the part about Iggy being in jail. “I’ll probably try to visit him next week,” Mickey says with a tinge of sadness in his voice he just can’t hide. But why does he need to anyway? He really doesn’t need to hide anything from Ian and that feels amazing.</p><p>“I have a lot of explaining to do, Mickey.” Ian turns his body so that he’s facing him. </p><p>“No, Ian—” Mickey tries to stop him.</p><p>“No, don’t.” Ian puts up a hand. “I need to tell you these things. Please.”</p><p>Mickey closes his mouth and nods again. He realizes that Ian probably does need this and honestly, so does Mickey. </p><p>“I knew it was probably out of line to contact Iggy, but I did it anyway. I—” Ian cuts himself off, looking down at the blanket underneath them, seemingly stuck in his thoughts. “I had this whole thing planned out I was gonna tell you. Like this whole speech and right now it just sounds stupid in my head.” He looks up at Mickey and grimaces.</p><p>Mickey slowly reaches over and takes Ian’s hand, squeezing it and drawing Ian’s attention to him. “It’s okay. Say whatever you need to say. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”</p><p>Ian smiles weakly at Mickey and then takes a deep breath that he exhales quickly. </p><p>“Mickey, when I found out about you and Dylan I honestly went kinda crazy. I know I already told you that I was angry and that I was jealous, but I also got...obsessed, I guess is the best way to put it.” Ian flinches and looks at Mickey, who is calm and continuing to hold his hand.</p><p>“I, uh, couldn’t stop thinking about you. I couldn’t get you out of my head. And Dylan didn’t make it any easier. He was talking about you and the case constantly. And I just started kinda spinning out of control. I stopped taking my meds and started following your case.” Ian fills his cheeks with air and then blows it out.</p><p>“I got really obsessed with the idea of religion and homophobia keeping people from being their authentic selves—keeping them from loving others and loving themselves. I somehow connected it to you. And to us. And I was also at the center all the time and going out with the guy I was with…" </p><p>Mickey tries not to flinch at the mention of the nameless boyfriend, but he isn't sure he pulls it off. </p><p>"It just gave me plenty of opportunity to find others that were looking for some way to express their frustration and stand up for what they believed in. Except...it got way out of hand." Ian shakes his head and averts his eyes. "And it stopped being about what people believed in and it became people believing in me. And fuck, I might have just been the last person they all should have been putting their faith in. </p><p>"I started to really believe that I was some kind of fucking messiah. I was so manic and delusional, and I believed that God was speaking to me and working through me. I really did.” Ian laughs bitterly with tears forming in his eyes, still not able to look at Mickey.</p><p>“And then…” Ian shakes his head and gets a look on his face that is somewhat far away, but mostly looks like he’s searching in the past for what had become the truth. “I was so reckless. And dangerous.” Ian almost looks surprised or like he had just realized how dangerous his actions had been. “I could have killed someone, Mickey.” With that he does turn and meet Mickey's eyes.</p><p>“But you didn’t.” Mickey tries to sound reassuring, but it comes out almost like a question.</p><p>“I blew up that stupid fucking van, and the most fucked up thing was when I got arrested and put in the back of the cop car, for a minute I was happy. Like I felt like I had somehow connected to you. Like I had done something that made us closer together. It was nuts, but that’s how it felt." Ian shakes his head and gives a humorless smile, but Mickey isn't so sure it sounds nuts. It may not have been right, but he feels like he understands it.</p><p>"I was still sick in jail. And after they let me out, while I was awaiting trial, I actually started to skip town. Dyed my hair—it was really bad—” Ian laughs genuinely and it makes Mickey smile. “But something stopped me. And I think it was you.” </p><p>Ian looks up at Mickey, his eyes shimmering through the tears. “I knew that I could never see you again if I left. I could never come back to Chicago. I’d never get the chance to try to make you see that we were supposed to be together. Would never get to see if with your father...locked up...that we would finally be able to be who we were meant to be to each other. And it stopped me."</p><p>Ian reaches over and takes Mickey's hand, and it feels strong and safe, and Mickey hopes it feels that way for Ian too.</p><p>"I got back on meds and started stabilizing," Ian continues, "but I was still obsessed, and I started making a plan. A plan to get back to you. ‘Cos that’s literally all I wanted. Nothing else mattered to me. I was gonna plead guilty and tell them I was sick. I'd ask for leniency and treatment, and then start working on finding you and ending up where you were once I got out.”</p><p>“And Iggy was part of that plan?” Mickey asks, but this time the question sounds more like a statement.</p><p>“Yeah,” Ian confirms. “I mean, not at first." He shakes his head. "I didn’t exactly have every part of the plan figured out until I was already in prison. I also still wasn’t completely stable, and I had groupies sending me mail all the time. It didn’t help, but I struggled through it until the fog lifted.</p><p>"I wrote to Iggy and asked for him to come visit me. I sent it to the old house, not knowing if he was there or if he would get it or what. But he did and he came to visit me." Ian looks down at where their hands are connected and he starts to run his thumb over Mickey's knuckles, like he's fidgeting.</p><p>After a few beats of silence, that Mickey doesn't try to fill, Ian looks into Mickey's unwavering blue eyes. “That’s when he told me about everything that happened. I mean I knew a lot about it, but not all of it. I didn't know about the plea deal—”</p><p>“He told you about that?” Mickey starts to get angry at Iggy, but then settles back. <em> This isn't the time </em>, he tells himself. “Sorry. Go ahead.” Mickey caresses Ian's nervous thumb with his own and nods.</p><p>“Yeah...he did.” Ian doesn’t waver and he looks in Mickey’s eyes. “And I’m glad he did because it made me feel closer to you. Made me feel like I knew something about you other people didn’t know. But it also fueled my anger towards your dad and made me feel... really ugly things.”</p><p>Mickey feels his chest tighten at the idea of Ian sitting in a jail cell thinking about him, longing for him, but also being filled with hurt on Mickey’s behalf. He wants to stop Ian from continuing, but he doesn’t. He wants him to be able to speak his mind and talk about how he felt and about what happened. He knows Ian needs this just as much as he does.</p><p>“Iggy was real broken up about what happened with you and your dad, and honestly Mickey, he spent the first ten minutes of our visit begging me to forgive him, which I thought was weird at first, but then I realized that he had also been left scared by what happened to us." Ian pauses and searches Mickey's face and he thinks that Ian is probably waiting to see if Mychart is going to protest, but he doesn't because he's kind of stunned. </p><p>"He…" Ian stutters, trying to get the words out. "He was forced to do something he didn’t want to do. He was forced to hurt his little brother, and he had carried around that guilt with him for a long time.” </p><p>Ian's eyes look fearful, and it would bother Mickey more, but at the moment Mickey feels like the wind is knocked from him, having once again not considered all the things his brother could have been feeling all these years. A wave of sympathy for Iggy washes over him that he isn't expecting and he sucks in air quickly before pinching the bridge of his nose. <em> Goddamn, emotions are so fucking complicated. </em>He fucking hates it, but he nods his head, signaling understanding and telling Ian he can go on.</p><p>“I had gotten locked up around the same time you got released, which was kinda ironic in a way, but I’m almost glad that’s how it happened." Mickey quirked an eyebrow, feeling like that was a weird thing to be glad about. </p><p>Ian smiled understanding because at this point Ian was an expert in interpreting Mickey's facial expressions. "I actually got stable in prison, which apparently isn’t normal—"</p><p>"It's fuckin' not." Mickey pursed his lips and shook his head.</p><p>"Started taking regular medication, and I got a really great counselor...It took some time though. The first few months I was still thinking some off the wall shit, and my version of reality was a little warped. I made some...less than sound decisions. But when I reached out to Iggy, I was able to find out where you were and that you were doing good. He wanted to make it up to me and so thought that maybe if he could help me get back to you then maybe he would be making amends to you too. </p><p>“And I was able to figure out how to see you again and try to convince you that now—this time around—was the time we could be together. God, it sounds fucked up when I say it all out loud.” Ian throws his head make and shakes his head slowly, letting out a long slow breath.</p><p>“No.” Mickey shakes his head. “Ian, it doesn’t.”</p><p>“It does a little bit.” Ian smiles, meeting his eyes again. “I don’t feel like I thought it all the way through. And I also didn’t think about how you would react and that you wouldn’t want to see me. That you would be angry with me.”</p><p>“Ian, listen.” Mickey grabs both of Ian’s hands. “First, you're wrong when you say people shouldn’t have believed in you. You deserve for people to believe in you. I fucking believe in you.” Mickey’s eyebrows are both arched and he says it with all sincerity, and it makes Ian's eyes squint with tears.</p><p>"And I’m not mad about Iggy. I get why you did that. I get it. I don’t totally love it, but I understand.” Mickey rolls his bottom lip between his teeth, and skips a beat, thinking and furrowing his brow. “And I’m sorry how I treated you when you first got here. I’m sorry about so many things. I don't know why I've been so angry with you," Mickey says. "I mean I kinda do, like I’ve said before...but everytime I say it out loud it sounds so fuckin’ stupid." Mickey looks to Ian to see if he is going to ask for more or change the subject, but Ian does neither. He just looks at him intently, leaving the decision to Mickey.</p><p>"You didn't stop putting yourself in danger, hanging out with Mandy and coming to the fucking house. I was trying so hard to protect you and it just seemed like you didn't fucking care. I know that’s not true now. I know it was something entirely different, but I was upset about that. And…” Mickey opens his mouth to speak, but the words stay rolling around his tongue, unable to be enunciated. </p><p>“And, Ian, I was...I was mad that you were fucking old dudes for… for favors or money or escape or whatever…” Mickey hears Ian’s breath hitch, but he continues. "But how can I be angry? I didn't do anything to stop you. I didn't try to fix it. Maybe if I'd stopped being a scared little bitch and saved you, protected you…"</p><p>"It wasn't your job to protect me, Mickey.” Ian clutches Mickey’s hands and it appears that he tries to smile, but his mouth doesn’t seem to be cooperating and he just looks sad to Mickey.</p><p>"Yes it was," Mickey insists, pulling his hands away and slapping his palms on his thighs. "And I thought that's what I was doing, but I wasn't. I was just bein’ a coward."</p><p>"Don't." Ian shakes his head and looks at Mickey with what looks like a warning not to go down that road, don't follow that train of thought. "You're the one that had to live with Terry, had to deal with his psycho ass, not me."</p><p>"But look what you went through. Look what happened. And I did nothing." Mickey’s throat becomes dry and he knows the pain in his voice is ringing clear.</p><p>Ian can't say anything at first, but then looks at Mickey, pursing his lips. “Okay. I’ll be honest. I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t bothered me that you never tried to contact me or intervene. You know it did. We've already talked about this. I was hurt. I <em> was </em> hurt <em> . </em>But, Mickey I understand now. And on top of that, it’s also true that it wasn't your responsibility.”</p><p>Mickey shakes his head. "No. Maybe if I’d taken care of you all of this would have been different."</p><p>There is a long pause and Ian is staring out the window and into the shop.</p><p>"Or maybe I would have still gotten sick and ran away. Or ended up in the mental hospital over and over. Or tried to kill myself. All of those things might have still happened." Ian's eyes are far away, glassy and he gets real quiet. "Maybe I would have hurt you and pushed you away like I did everyone else. Maybe we still would have ended up unsure of ourselves and lost. Both of us in prison, not sure how to live like normal people."</p><p>"No such thing." Mickey shakes his head and starts biting his nails absent-mindedly. </p><p>"My point is..." Ian looks back to Mickey, who looks back at him. Ian reaches over and runs his fingers through Mickey's black locks, and looks grateful that Mickey allows him to. "Maybe you did save our lives. Maybe even if we would have had some stolen moments—a few weeks here, a couple months there, hell, even a whole fuckin' year—we might have still gone through some shit. We might have really hurt each other. We might still have gotten seperated, and might not have been able to find each other until right now, when the playing field is leveled and we both have a chance to get it right."</p><p>"Leveled the playing field? What? 'Cos we both went to prison? You think even if we had done things differently, we still would have ended up here?"</p><p>"Maybe not <em> here </em> exactly, but maybe this is still the point in time in some alternate universe where you and I finally get to be Ian and Mickey. We just went through shit a lot differently. Made different choices. Maybe we still would have gone through fucked up shit and gotten hurt, but ended up right where we are now."</p><p>Mickey considers it. It sounds crazy. Like science fiction, but he knows they can't possibly know what might have happened if he had taken him away from Boystown or from one of his sugar daddies, if he had stood up to his father or taken Ian and ran away. Visited him when he was hospitalized, never had a "girlfriend", or had just kissed Ian whenever the fuck he wanted to—maybe there still would have been heartache, but it would have been more up close, more personal. And maybe Ian would still have tried to hurt himself. He certainly <em> still </em> would have gotten sick. Mickey thinks he <em> still </em> would have been in and out of juvie, jail, and prison, and then maybe they would have <em> still </em> ended up here together, just taken a different journey to get here. But together. </p><p>Finally together. </p><p>'Cos Mickey can be with Ian. And he can say he's gay and that he likes getting fucked, that he loves another man. Mickey can do all those things and be all those things in this world. Their world. Maybe it would have been the same, but different, and here they are now and that's what matters.</p><p>They are both quiet and Ian reaches for Mickey's hand and they lace fingers.</p><p>Mickey looks down at their joined hands thoughtfully. "But in this alternate universe would Terry still be alive and I just grew a set of balls somewhere along the way and told him I like cock in my ass?" They both can't contain themselves and start to chuckle softly.</p><p>When they are quiet again and the mood is sober, Mickey says, "'Cos no matter how hard this has all been—and it's been fuckin' hard—shit wouldn't be this easy if Terry were alive. Even locked up. He'd probably be trying to kill us right now."</p><p>Ian tightens his grip on Mickey's hand. "Mickey, I have one more thing to tell you." Ian's voice cracks and he sucks in two lungs full of air. </p><p>Mickey looks up at him in alarm. He doesn't need any more fucking surprises right now. He's had enough, but the redhead's green eyes are pleading with him that he be heard, so Mickey stays quiet, but cautious.</p><p>“Um, well, we got a lot of work to do, Mick,” Ian says. “Right?” </p><p>“Yeah. A lot.” Mickey nods his head, not sure where Ian is going with all of this and starting to feel really worried. </p><p>“Are we together?” The question comes out abruptly and surprises Mickey.</p><p>“That’s, uh, that’s kinda a weird—”</p><p>“Mickey, please.” Ian tilts his head as he begs for Mickey to play along.</p><p>“Well, if I saw you with someone else I would probably <em> kill </em> them, so I don’t know, what do you think?” Mickey says kind of caustically, but it makes Ian laugh softly.</p><p>“Yeah, I’m not okay with that.” Ian shrugs. “But… It’s been nine years and we both have done and said things we can’t take back, but I think we are both working towards accepting those things. This thing I need to tell you, I’m afraid that if I do, that we’ll be through and I’m just… but I need to tell you.” Ian shakes his head and all of a sudden is unable to make eye contact with Mickey.</p><p>“Ian, you’re fucking scaring me, just tell me.” Mickey is pleading with Ian as he catches his eye again.</p><p>“Um…” Ian swallows thickly and takes a deep breath. “I...I…”</p><p>“Ian, please,” Mickey says in a loud tone, trying to keep the edge out of his voice.</p><p>Ian takes a deep breath and blurts out on the exhale, “I’m the one that put the hit out on Terry.” His eyes are wild with fear and he seems to be holding his breath now, waiting.</p><p>There is a moment of quiet, of stillness, where neither of them move or say anything, and it seems that Mickey isn't breathing either. Then, moving deftly like a wild cat, Mickey leaps forward and flips Ian on his back, straddling him and holding his arms down, his nostrils flaring and his face intense like an animal. “You what?” Mickey’s voice is breathy, their faces close together. </p><p>“Mickey, I’m sorry, I just was so fucking angry and tired of all the hurt he’d caused other people and what he did to us. When I saw Iggy and he told me all about the pictures that attorney showed you guys and what Terry had done and would keep doing...I was so fucking mad. And I just knew he’d never let us be together. No matter what I did.” Ian’s words are coming out in a rambling stream and he doesn’t stop to take a breath. </p><p>“I still wasn’t totally in my right mind, but I thought what I was doing was right. There was a guy I was locked up with that was like a groupie, a fan, whatever, and he knew someone that knew someone in prison where Terry was and well… I…” Ian trails off, unable to continue to speak, looking frightened and a little sad.</p><p>Mickey grips Ian’s wrists harder and he drops his weight on Ian, down on his groin, continuing to stare at him with an indecipherable look. </p><p>“Mickey, please say something,” Ian begs.</p><p>“Ian,” Mickey gasps, “I fucking love you.” Mickey drops onto Ian completely and kisses him with great urgency, wrapping himself around him.</p><p>“You what?” Ian says as soon as Mickey breaks the kiss. Ian’s eyes are huge and he is completely winded.</p><p>“I said I fucking love you.” Mickey rolls forward and places his forehead on Ian’s.</p><p>“I—Fuck, I love you too, Mick,” Ian gasps with tears escaping his eyes. “You aren’t mad?” </p><p>“Mad? No. Never. Ian, you set me free. You set us free.” Mickey sees a tear land on Ian’s face that does not belong to Ian and he knows he’s crying. “I fucking love you,” Mickey repeats himself again, his voice raspy and filled with relief and gratitude, but also laced with desire. </p><p>Mickey turns his head to the side and licks into Ian’s mouth, and Ian draws him in, wrapping his arms around Mickey, clutching him tighter and responding to Mickey’s kisses with increasing pressure.</p><p>Mickey feels a buzz in his chest and his dick stays to harden in his pants and he knows it may be fucked up timing, but he also knows that it’s time. <em> Now </em> is the time. <em> Now </em> he wants Ian. He wants to be possessed and to possess. He wants their bodies moving together as one. He wants Ian inside of him and he wants him <em> now </em>. The realization makes the intensity of their kisses grow and Mickey trails his hands down Ian’s arms and over his chest.</p><p>Mickey lifts himself up and pushes Ian’s shirt up, kissing his stomach and trailing his tongue up the crevice between his abs. He swipes his tongue across one nipple and then the other, delighting in Ian’s gasp, growing harder still because of it. And he can feel Ian stiffening as well. Mickey pushes Ian’s shirt the rest of the way off and sighs before diving into Ian’s neck, sucking on his reddening skin and leaving small bruises behind.</p><p>“Ahh, Mickey,” Ian moans underneath him and he slides his hands up the back of Mickey’s shirt, feeling the smooth, hot skin.</p><p>“I want you,” Mickey breathes wet in Ian’s ear as he reaches down with both hands, tweaking his nipples.</p><p>“Unh,” Ian gasps. “Oh, fuck.” </p><p>“You hear me, Gallagher?” Mickey growls and bites Ian’s jaw before teasing Ian with his tongue, starting to dip it into Ian’s mouth, but only sliding it back out along Ian’s bottom lip.</p><p>“Yes, yes, fuck yes, I hear you,” Ian says, sounding almost panicked.</p><p>“I want to feel you inside of me,” Mickey says, voice dripping with want and need and lust. “I want you to fuck me.”</p><p>“Fuuuuck.” It’s Ian’s turn to growl and he sits up suddenly, bringing Mickey with him, and skillfully stripping Mickey of his shirt in one swift motion. They both start to unbutton each other’s pants in a frenzy. Ian lifts up so Mickey can peel his jeans down as far as they will go. Mickey ends up getting off the bed and yanking Ian’s pants and underwear down the rest of the way in an almost violent motion, but Ian, smiling smugly, doesn’t seem to mind. </p><p>Ian swings his legs around and pulls Mickey to him by the front of Mickey’s jeans. He deftly undoes them and then slides them just over Mickey’s ass, revealing his cheeks that Ian grasps while he kisses Mickey’s belly, turning him sideways for a second and biting one of his ass cheeks. Mickey hisses at the tinge of pain, but he also loves it and he knows that Ian can feel his erection in front of him.</p><p>Ian yanks down Mickey’s pants to his ankles and then grasps Mickey's cock in his hand. His breath hitches when Ian swipes his tongue along the slit, lapping up the pre-cum that has started to leak out, and he steadies himself on Ian's shoulders so he can kick his pants the rest of the way off. Ian wastes no time and with no hesitation, he lowers his head, taking Mickey's cock all the way to the back of his throat.</p><p>"Jesus Christ," Mickey gasps, reaching down to take two handfuls of Ian's hair. "Fuck." </p><p>Ian bobs his head up and down, dragging his flattened tongue along the shaft as he pulls back, cupping Mickey's balls with one hand and scratching his fingers gently in the hair under Mickey's navel. Ian slides his hand up Mickey's stomach and chest, reaching his left nipple that he rolls between his thumb and forefinger, causing more breathy noises to leave Mickey's lips.</p><p>"Fuck, Ian," Mickey gasps again, feeling like he might come, and he pulls Ian's head back. Ian releases Mickey's cock with a pop, looking up at Mickey with lust filled-eyes that are questioning why he stopped him. "I want you," Mickey repeats himself, voice thick and gruff.</p><p>Ian responds by pulling Mickey's face down to his and holding him in a deep, wet kiss that takes Mickey's breath away. Mickey smiles into Ian's mouth, but before he has a chance to catch his breath, Ian stands up and twirls them around, pushing Mickey down on the bed. </p><p>Mickey can't suppress a giggle, thoroughly enjoying the forcefulness and what he feels is the best turn of events possible. Mickey feels his legs fall open as Ian crawls onto the bed and between them. He reaches into his drawer and pulls out the lube, placing it on his belly, suggestively raising an eyebrow.</p><p>Ian laughs and sits back on his haunches. He snatches the lube off Mickey's stomach, and squirts some onto his fingers. He tosses it on the bed next to him, never breaking eye contact, and then grabs Mickey by the back of the knee, hoisting one leg up to rest against his body. He rubs his hand down the outside of Mickey's thigh and then trails open mouthed kisses and gentle bites down the inside. Mickey moans his approval, closing his eyes and throwing his head back on the pillow for a moment.</p><p>Ian waits until Mickey is focused back on him, looking in his eyes, and biting his bottom lip. Mickey feels like a mess, but a good mess, a happy mess, and he nods his head at Ian, who responds by running the tip of his lubricated finger over his opening, swirling it in a circle, applying more and more pressure with every rotation until the tip of it slides in, garnering a soft moan from Mickey. </p><p>Ian pushes his finger in, working to open Mickey up, prepare him for Ian. He adds a second finger, and with two fingers nestled inside of him, Ian starts to scissor him open and then adds a third. Ian hooks his fingers at one point, catching on the bundle of nerves, the sweet spot, causing Mickey to buck upward with a sharp intake of air. </p><p>Ian smiles, looking satisfied with himself and Mickey laughs at the expression on his face. "You gonna get on me, or what, Gallagher?" The words remind him of being sixteen in the dugout and taunting Ian into flipping him over and fucking him against the fence, but the words aren't quite the same, neither of them are quite the same, and he's happy for it.</p><p>It seems to strike a chord with Ian too, who smiles knowingly and pulls his fingers out then surges up for a rough kiss that turns soft, if not a little biting.</p><p>Ian pulls back again and positions himself at Mickey's entrance, the head of his cock resting against his tight ring. Ian sinks his teeth into the tender, soft flesh of Mickey's thigh once again, and then breaks away to make eye contact with Mickey. "I love you, Mick," he tells him, and then the head of his cock breaches Mickey's hole and he slowly sinks into him. </p><p>"Oh, fuck," Mickey whispers and immediately, puts his hands on Ian's shoulders and starts to dig his blunted fingernails into the skin. Mickey feels Ian push in the final few inches until he is fully seated inside of him, sitting still for a moment. </p><p>"Ian," Mickey rasps his name.</p><p>"Mickey?" Ian responds almost inaudibly.</p><p>"I love you, too. So fucking much." Mickey pushes himself up, so he's even closer to Ian, indicating to him that he can start to move inside him. </p><p>Ian pumps slowly at first, dragging at Mickey's walls and making that satisfying slap with his pelvis against Mickey's ass. </p><p>Mickey pulls his leg down and reaches for Ian, who he draws closer to him. He frames Ian's hips with his thighs and knees as Ian picks up his pace, moving into him harder. Mickey starts to moan uncontrollably as Ian's breath gets ragged and he grabs Mickey's hair and leans down to kiss him roughly. Mickey hears himself let out a sound right into Ian's mouth that he would absolutely never admit was a whimper, but it absolutely was. Ian responds with a throaty groan and he kisses Mickey harder as his hips start to move with more force against Mickey.</p><p>"Fuck," Mickey gasps, "so fucking good." Wanting to bring Ian in as close to him as possible, he wraps his legs tightly around his waist and locks his ankles. Then he throws his arms around Ian's shoulders pulling him down to him so their chests are flush and Ian's face is buried in his neck. </p><p>Mickey feels Ian's weight on him and their intense hold on one another. The air around them is hot and he starts to feel pressure on his neck, like it's hard to breathe. And it <em> is </em> hard to breathe, and Mickey feels himself start to gasp. </p><p>Ian suddenly untangles himself from Mickey, obviously immediately aware that something is wrong. Ian sits back on his heels, pulling out, but still holding his hips with his large hands. "Mickey?" Ian is searching Mickey's face, who is panting, but starting to breath again. </p><p>"Fuck, I'm sorry." Ian starts to move away, but Mickey lunges forward, landing in Ian's lap, straddling him. </p><p>"Don't you fucking dare." Mickey growls, almost choking on the words. "You aren't going anywhere, Gallagher. Not again. No one is taking this away from me—away from us. Not even you." Mickey pushes them together for a bruising kiss that stills Ian for a split second until it seems he realizes what Mickey means and he laces his fingers up to encircle Mickey's neck and the back of the head. Ian opens his mouth wider, letting Mickey in, giving him full access. Their lips and tongue roam around, exploring and tasting each other. Mickey reaches down and places Ian's cock so that Mickey is able to move and have it slide between his cheeks and they kiss harder and deeper.</p><p>"Mmm, Mickey," Ian moans, and it makes Mickey smile, knowing he's the reason for the delicious sounds coming from Ian's mouth. </p><p>Mickey pulls back and meets Ian's eyes that look drunk with lust, but also shining with love. "Get on your back," Mickey tells him and he grabs Ian's shoulders, not waiting for the other man to act before rotating them around and flipping him on his back. </p><p>"Oh, wow," Ian says, puffing the words, and his eyes go wide from the sudden movement.</p><p>Mickey smiles, eyes piercing, with a bit of sinister delight. He straddles Ian's upper thighs and then rubs his hands from Ian's stomach all the way up his ribs, over his nipples and across his collar bones, until they are on either side of Ian's neck. He places a tender kiss in the middle of Ian's chest, and then rears up to position Ian's cock once again against the tight band of tissue, so close to almost breaking through the entrance that a moan rumbles through Ian's chest.</p><p>Mickey looks at Ian, whose eyes are momentarily closed and he feels so much in that moment—maybe everything—that once again he can hardly breathe, but this time it feels good.</p><p>"No one is ever going to take this from us again," Mickey tells Ian one more time and then plunges down onto him, ripping an animalistic groan from Ian's chest.</p><p>Mickey feels himself fully sheathed around Ian and it feels so amazing he can't believe he ever lived without this. Nine years is far too long to be away from the person you love. Too long to not have their touch, feel the heat of their body, smell their sweat, and have them rolling underneath you, a howling, whining, filthy mess. Too long to live without the feel of them hard and deep inside you. Too long to be without their aggressive, beautiful, sloppy love. It's been too long without him. Without Ian. Mickey thinks all this and feels all this and swears under his breath he'll never live without Ian again as he starts to use his strong thighs to move him faster and faster up and down Ian's cock. Mickey rolls his hips as he places his palms on Ian's chest, who then grabs Mickey's forearms, digging his fingers in and anchoring himself.</p><p>"Never again," Ian pants out a barely audible agreement as he wets his lips and move forward while pulling Mickey towards him for a rough kiss that seals their promise.</p><p>Mickey wraps himself around Ian, who plants his feet on the bed and starts to move up into Mickey rhythmically who then moves back to meet Ian's thrusts. They are both panting sweaty messes, and Mickey wants it to last as long as possible, but the friction he feels with his cock trapped between their stomachs, and Ian pumping in and out of him is almost too much to bear. Then Ian grabs Mickey's hips forcefully and changes the angle slightly so that his cock is now hitting Mickey's prostate over and over.</p><p>"Oh, fuck!" Mickey exclaims, the added sensation tipping him over the edge and causing him to come between them.</p><p>Ian responds by encircling Mickey's waist with both arms and fucking into him forcefully until he releases his orgasm inside of Mickey, Ian grunting out Mickey's name, both of them gasping their "fucks" and "never agains" and "I love yous". </p><p>Mickey fully collapses onto Ian, neither of them caring about the filthy heap of cum and sweat, saliva and tears they have become—maybe even loving it a little. Ian gently rubs Mickey's back as Mickey is carding Ian's hair and softly kissing the underside of his jaw, soothing one another as aftershocks of their orgasms send tremors of pleasure down their bodies. </p><p>Mickey rests his cheek against Ian's chest as he remains soft inside him, neither of them wanting to break apart. They waited nine years for a chance to be physically part of each other again, and they weren't ready to break the connection. Somewhere inside of Mickey he knows now that their connection, that is physical and emotional and so many other things, will never be broken again.</p><p>***</p><p>Mickey and Ian spend the weekend intertwined and entranced, immersed and enveloped—fuck, just all over each other and completely unable to break apart. They are totally fucked out come Monday morning and neither of them are ready for real life. They emerge from their love den, late for work and looking like they'd been in a bar fight.</p><p>"Are your fuckin' serious?" Enzo looks at both of them and laughs. "You two are a fuckin' mess. Literally."</p><p>Mickey is too exhausted to even give him shit or care that he is infuriatingly right, so he just walks away, Ian in tow, both of them flipping him off in unison. Mickey just doesn’t have the brain power to unpack the fact that that also means Enzo knows about him and about them, but he also isn’t sure he cares. </p><p>When they walk into the office, Rita-Mae stands up from her position, looking over Willie's shoulder, her mouth gaping open, but then closing quickly and shaking her head. Willie on the other hand hoots, slapping his palms on his thighs.</p><p>"You two look like you had a good weekend," Willie says with a wide grin.</p><p>"You're late for work and you both look like shit," Rita-Mae says with her hands on her hips. "I thought I told you two I wanted you both alive at work on Monday morning; you look half-dead."</p><p>"Aw, give the boys a break, Boss." Willie teases her. “You don’t have to be a hardass all the time.” He smiles brightly at her, and she purses her lips at him, but it looks like she’s holding back a smile.</p><p>"Well, Audre will be here soon with the Chevelle, and we have a busy day, so pull yourselves together," she says, but Mickey can see the corner of her mouth twitch into a grin.</p><p>"Oh, so <em> your </em> girlfriend is coming by." Willie is on a roll, and Mickey is grateful his teasing is now landing on Rita-Mae rather than them.</p><p>"And?" She gives him the half-hearted version of her death glare, but it just makes him laugh.</p><p>"It's just about fucking time," Willie tells her, but there is something serious and caring in his expression, and it seems to soften Rita-Mae, so she gives a subtle nod. She pats him on the shoulder, but then looks at Ian and Mickey with raised eyebrows that communicate loud and clear "moment over, get to work". </p><p>They both nod their heads and shove their hands in their pockets. Rita-Mae brushes past them, leaving them stuck in the office with Willie, who then gets up and closes the door behind them. Mickey is startled by the action, unsure what Willie is about to do or say, and he really isn't sure he can handle it right now.</p><p>"Listen," Willie starts, "I know I apologized to both of you individually, but I wanted to apologize to you together."</p><p>"You don't have to—"</p><p>"No, Mickey, I do." Willie cuts Mickey off and holds his hand up. "Why don't you guys sit down?" He gestures to the metal chairs and sits back.</p><p>Mickey looks over at Ian whose eyes are huge and they both move to sit down.</p><p>"Boys, I'm sorry. Truly. I embarrassed myself and what I did was wrong." Willie tells them.</p><p>"But I kinda led you on," Ian says quietly and Mickey looks at him, and wants to tell him that's ridiculous and that he didn't need to say anything, but it isn’t the right time so he doesn't.</p><p>"Doesn't matter what you did, Ian." Willie shakes his head. "What I did was wrong. I was the guy that hired you and I am your boss, and I should have never put my hands on you."</p><p>As soon as Mickey hears Willie talk about touching Ian he feels his fists ball up tight and his jaw clench. He really doesn't want to hear this shit right now, and suddenly realizes some part of him is still upset, even though he really doesn't want to be.</p><p>"I was way out of line and I knew it as soon as you told me I had the wrong idea. Then when I realized something was going on with the two of you, I felt like a complete jackass." Willie hung his head for a second and the shame on his face quelled some of Mickey's angst.</p><p>"If that wasn't enough to make me feel like an asshole, don't worry, Ana and Rita-Mae took care of the rest. It was unacceptable and I don't ever want you to feel uncomfortable here at work. Either of you. And Ana and I both want you to feel welcome in our home—together. Mickey is one of the family, and that makes you family too, Ian."</p><p>Mickey is speechless and it seems Ian is as well, both of them sitting there—two sets of wide eyes, peaked eyebrows and open mouths.</p><p>"I hope that with time you'll both forgive me and there won't be any bad feelings." Willie grimaces and puts his palms on his knees.</p><p>"I—" Ian starts to speak and then looks at Mickey before continuing. "I forgive you. I was never upset with you, and I dont feel weird. I'm okay."</p><p>Mickey wants to protest, wants to tell Ian he's only okay because he's used to old fucks hitting on him and trying to take advantage of him, but he knows that it would just be hurtful to Ian and a residual piece of pain Mickey hasn't let go of yet, but he also knows he will eventually. Just not right now. It may be true that Ian is going to see this as his fault and not put any responsibility on Willie for fucked up reasons, but it doesn't do any good to point that out. In fact, it would just be cruel at this point, so Mickey keeps his mouth shut. </p><p>"That's very generous, Ian. But I'm not sure I deserve that."</p><p>"I'm not sure you do either." Mickey lets it slip out, even after he’d just decided not to say a word, but he isn't sure he cares.</p><p>Willie doesn't say anything and just nods his head instead.</p><p>"But…" Mickey starts, slow to continue, but feeling like he has to. "I want to forgive you. And I thought I had, but I'm obviously still a little fucked up from it." Mickey feels shaken by his own honesty, but he doesn't regret it. </p><p>"That's fair, Mickey," Willie tells him with a gentle smile. "Ana is going to want you two at the house for family dinner soon, so I hope you'll consider it. I don't want to be the reason you don't."</p><p>"I don't think Ana would let me stay away even if I wanted to," Mickey says and without thinking about it, he reaches out and grabs Ian's hand. He sees Ian look at their entwined fingers out of the corner of his eye and he thinks he sees a smile from the redhead.</p><p>Willie also gives them a beaming smile. "I'm honestly very happy you found each other." </p><p>"Thank you," Ian says and he squeezes Mickey's hand, who can't seem to find any words, the moment being both heartfelt and awkward. <em> What a fucked up combination. </em></p><p>"Alright." Willie stands up and opens the door. "You two get to work." He smiles at them and shoves a clipboard towards no one in particular, but Ian grabs it and gives a single nod, and they both walk out to the garage floor together.</p><p>***</p><p>Mickey is sitting on one of the cold, hard chairs in the alley, smoking and waiting for Audre to get there with the Chevelle. His nerves and excitement are palpable, but he is trying to calm down, trying to manage his feelings. The idea of being able to finish the work he started and the opportunity to build back up his friendship with Audre is a one-two punch of exhilaration, but also anxiety. But even the anxiety feels good because he knows that it's a reminder that things went sideways, but they didn’t get broken and things have the chance to get better from here.</p><p>“Hey.” Rita-Mae sits down in the metal chair next Mickey. He immediately holds out his pack of smokes, but she waves them off.</p><p>“Hey,” Mickey replies, looking at the ground and thinking about what Willie had said earlier. “Did you give Willie shit about the stuff with Ian?” He hears the words come out of his mouth and is kind of surprised they did, but doesn’t feel too weird about it.</p><p>“I did.” Rita-Mae doesn’t offer much, just looks down at her feet as she kicks away a piece of dislodged asphalt.</p><p>“When did you—I mean—why?” Mickey can’t find the right combination of words, and it sounds jumbled to his own ears, but hopefully it still made some sense. </p><p>She turns and looks at him, her expression unreadable, almost neutral. “As soon as I realized he hired Ian, I told him that I didn’t like it, and that I hoped he would think about what he’s doing, but I left it at that. Not much else I could say.” Rita-Mae looks towards the sky and lets out a long breath. “When I saw what a mess you were I knew it had something to do with Willie and figured that it had more to do with Ian, but didn’t know what to do about that, and shortly after he seemed to ease off, so I let it go. But…”</p><p>Rita-Mae trails off, but Mickey continues to look at her expectantly. “What?” he asks her.</p><p>“After we talked to you the other night…” She looks him directly in the eye. “Now that I know Ian better and see what you two went through…” She shakes her head. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it and Audre and I talked about it a lot this weekend…”</p><p>Mickey is stunned by this confession and his face flushes red thinking about him and Ian and Willie being a topic of conversation amongst the two women all weekend.</p><p>“I talked to him this morning and told him how I felt—told him it was wrong trying to take advantage of Ian—even if Ian doesn’t see it that way, and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t. I hate to think what that kid went through.” Rita-Mae gets a far away look and doesn’t realize that Mickey is staring at her with a gaping mouth and a tear pushing its way out of his eye.</p><p>“Regardless.” She seems to snap back from whatever weird dazed state she was in and looks back at Mickey. “He did try to take advantage of Ian, and he also broke promises to people who love him and hurt you in the process. So, I told him how fucked up that was. And a few other things that aren’t your business.” She crosses her arms and looks at him, expression back to neutral. Calm. Steady. She looks unmovable, sturdy, and somehow comforting to Mickey in that moment, but he feels confused.</p><p>“But it didn’t seem like you cared,” Mickey tells her, feeling an ache in his chest.</p><p>Rita-Mae’s expression cracks for a second and she looks a little exasperated, but she puffs out two cheeks full of air and gives Mickey a grimacing smile. “Of course I was gonna act like I didn't care. What was the alternative?”</p><p>He isn’t sure what she means by that but he is sure the confusion is written all over his face. </p><p>“I'm always gonna take his side in a fight. I’m always gonna defend him. I'm always gonna help him save face. I just can’t defend him this time. Even if it’s my first reaction.” She shakes her head, like she’s having an internal argument with herself. “The man saved my life, and this world ain't so black and white. Lots of different things make up a person. There aren’t good people and bad people; there are just some people that are more fucked up and bigger assholes than others. There are some people that the bad way outweighs the good. He isn’t one of those people. People always tryin’ to ‘cancel’ other people over shit they’ve done and said, but someone’s fuckery doesn’t automatically erase all the good they’ve done.” </p><p>She shrugs and closes her eyes, sighing deeply. “But he hired that boy for the wrong reasons. That's <em> fucked </em> up. What he did was wrong, but he has always done right by me and as shitty as he can be sometimes, he also has taken care of a whole lotta people—you included." She points at him with two fingers, almost like a gun. </p><p>"Nothing is ever that simple, Mickey. The world isn’t that simple. And one of the hardest things is having lots of feelings about someone or something that don’t mix together well. But that’s life. That conflict in us and outside of us is <em> life </em>. And we have to learn how to deal with that and decide how we want to handle it and accept or reject it. It ain’t ever gonna be easy, Mickey, but eventually you’ll get better at it.”</p><p>Rita-Mae sits back, sighing, looking tired as she looks above the neighboring buildings at what is probably nothing in particular. “I’m sorry all this happened. All of it. But you <em> will </em>get better at this.” And he knows she means life. He’ll get better at life and he believes her.</p><p>Mickey is stupefied, and the time seems to stretch, but Rita-Mae sits calmly, kicking her legs out in front of her and cruising her ankles. It doesn’t feel uncomfortable even though he thinks it should. And it feels like she’s waiting there—not for him to say something, but almost like she is waiting to see if he needs something. He doesn’t though, because what she said was all he needed. </p><p>Mickey feels a warmth in his stomach and knows in that moment—really knows—that Rita-Mae cares about him. She supports him. She wants what’s best for him. She wants him to succeed. And she wants him to be happy. She especially wants him to not be a dumbass and to understand and accept life and learn how to navigate it. And she's there to help him figure that out. Someone that doesn’t have a lot of words most of the time, takes her time to have a lot of words, expressions and feelings for him, and it feels fucking good. </p><p>He is so grateful that it almost overwhelms him. “Thank you,” he whispers in a raspy voice, as he turns around to really look at her.</p><p>Rita-Mae smiles kindly down at her boots and then throws her head back and to the side to meet his gaze. “You’re gonna be okay. Mickey.” She stands up and pats him on the shoulder, her hand landing heavy and firm, bringing comfort and reassurance. Because something about her physical gestures makes him wholeheartedly believe what she says, he nods his head at her and smiles back before she leaves the alley and heads inside the garage. </p><p>***</p><p>Mickey and Ian are standing shoulder to shoulder as Rita-Mae flags Audre in with the Chevelle, Willie leaning against the office some distance from them. Mickey feels himself lean against Ian, unable to stop the motion as he is overwhelmed with so many different emotions and sensations. He is relieved, warmed, and filled with joy. But he is also anxious, a little sad, and still feeling some residuals of anger toward himself. Those conflicting feelings are the part of life Rita-Mae talked to him about, those feelings he had been talking to so many people about. He knows he has to be okay with them or at least be able to manage them. He thinks he can do that.</p><p>It appears Ian can sense all of that bubbling inside of Mickey because he throws his arm around him loosely, looking at Mickey out of the corner of his eye. Mickey feels like he should pull away—they’re at fucking work afterall—but he doesn’t because Ian’s arm steadies him and that’s more important right now than any ridicule that may be headed their way.</p><p>“Keep comin'!” Rita-Mae yells above the rumbling of the engine as she waves Audre forward into the spot where the Chevelle will temporarily live.</p><p>Mickey hears her roar as well as the purr that deeply vibrates his chest, and he can’t keep a smile from spreading across his face. He can also hear a rattling that he is sure is the exhaust that still needs work and he starts to do an inventory in his head of what parts they already have, ready to push up his sleeves and get to work.</p><p>The whole scene is somewhat overwhelming, but there is also a feeling of warmth and calm. He knows he'll have to see her leave permanently at some point, but being able to finish what he started is more important than any sadness that might bring and he feels a lump form in his throat. This lump, unlike the one that usually comes to visit, is welcome because it brings with it a feeling of happiness he’s quite frankly surprised by.</p><p>Rita-Mae flattens her uplifted palm. “You’re good!” She tells Audre, who puts the car in park and then turns off the engine. The sudden absence of the thunderous sound of the muscle car motor makes the silence in the garage deafening at first, and everyone recognizes it, their eyes going wide and everyone seeming to hold their breath. They all look at each other and then the silence breaks as Ian starts to chuckle and everyone follows suit, even Enzo and Damon who Mickey didn’t realize were standing behind them.</p><p>“Man, that car is fuckin’ sweet,” Damon hoots.</p><p>“I thought it was done.” Enzo says. “What didya fuck up, Milkovich?”</p><p>
  <em> Yeah, I did. Fuck you. </em>
</p><p>Mickey flips him off without looking at him and doesn’t respond otherwise.</p><p>“Naw,” Willie says moving forward to stand next to Enzo and Damon. “She just needed to be home for a little bit. Needed to work some stuff out. Mickey’s done a great job.”</p><p>Mickey hears Willie behind him. <em> Helping save face. </em> Like Rita-Mae said. <em> That’s what family does for each other, huh? </em> Now he knows.</p><p>Audre slides out of the Chevelle and throws the keys to Mickey, who barely catches them, completely caught off guard by the action.</p><p>“You ready, Milkovich?” Audre smiles at him. A real smile. A smile that says you’re my friend and you have work to do.</p><p>“Fuck yeah.” Mickey grins from ear to ear and walks over to Audre and the car. They stand side by side looking at her and they both have dumb grins on their face.</p><p>“She sounds pretty good, huh?” Audre asks, not talking to anyone but him.</p><p>“She does,” he says almost breathlessly. “Still got exhaust work to do.”</p><p>“Definitely.” She nods. “And she’s pulling to the right, but it hasn’t been realigned, so when we go to do the tires and all that.”</p><p>“For sure.” Mickey nods back, feeling butterflies tussling in his stomach.</p><p>“Smoke?” she asks, finally turning her head to look at him. He meets her gaze and he motions with his head outside.</p><p>Mickey is relieved that no one follows them, wanting to have time alone with Audre to talk or at least just exist peacefully and smoke, feeling like they, more than anyone else, truly share this moment and no matter what has passed, that means something. He imagines she feels that way too.</p><p>“I thought you quit,” Mickey says as she pulls out her ridiculous cigarettes and lights it up, then puts the flame under Mickey’s less ridiculous one.</p><p>“Special occasion.” She shrugs. “Seems like a good time to smoke.”</p><p>“You tryin’ to quit ‘cos of my boss?” Mickey can’t help but smile and it feels good because he’s teasing her lightly and she laughs out loud.</p><p>“Yeah, alright.” She settles down in one of the chairs. “You got me. We’ve both been trying to quit. I can’t remember whose idea it was, but I want to say it was hers ‘cos I kinda hate it.” Audre laughs again and Mickey joins her, laughing and sitting as well.</p><p>There are a few beats of silence, the both of them smoking and relaxing in the afternoon sun that still hasn’t brought the level of heat that they know will be there in another month or so. It feels warm, and energizing, and Mickey doesn’t really want to break the spell of the moment, but feels he still needs to say something.</p><p>“Audre, I'm really sorry,” Mickey says, his head resting against the still cool concrete, turning to look at her. “Again. I know I’ve said it, but I mean—”</p><p>“Stop.” Audre lolls her head to the side and grins at him, her eyes reflecting her expression and he is grateful. “Look I know I've been distant and a bit of bitch, and it's not even about the car...I just…”</p><p>“Had your feelings hurt?” Mickey offers.</p><p>Her eyes focus on him with a look of what... Consternation? Confusion? Amusement?</p><p>“What? What's that look for?” Mickey asks.</p><p>“I mean it's true.” Audre nods. “That's all true.” Her lips curve into a mischievous smile. “It just sounds really fucking gay when you say it.”</p><p>He punches her in the shoulder, but can’t contain a laugh and a feeling of relief.</p><p>“Ow, fucker.” She chuckles while rubbing her arm.</p><p>“That didn't hurt, you pussy,” he says, a smile stretched across his face.</p><p>“I see what you did there.” Audre beams over at him and she lightly punches him back. “We’re good, Mickey. I mean it.”</p><p>And he knows she’s telling the truth.</p><p>***</p><p>Three weeks had passed since Mickey found out about Iggy, and two since a letter from Mickey had finally been handed to Iggy at the Cook County jail, asking to be put on Iggy’s visitor’s log. In addition to how agonizingly slow mail delivery to inmates was, there had also been some hassles about him visiting the jail. The first hassle had been Ian reminding him that he had to have permission from Larry to visit. Then right after Larry gave his seal of approval, Mickey got a collect call from Iggy, telling him that there was some issue with getting him on the list. It sounded like there was some asshole that had a vendetta or some shit against Mickey and was purposefully “forgetting” to get Mickey’s information in the books.</p><p>Ian had talked him into telling Larry, which Mickey groused was basically just him snitching again, but he did it anyway. It took Larry several days, but somehow he was able to talk to a “buddy” and get Mickey approved to visit his brother. Finally. </p><p>“Fuckin’ wish it had been this hard to visit my fuckin’ dad when he was locked up. Piece of shit,” Mickey grouses, blowing huffily through his flared nostrils.</p><p>“Come on, Mick.” Ian puts his hand on the back of Mickey’s neck, giving it a light squeeze. “Let’s go.” </p><p>They ride out to the jail together, Ian at the wheel of Rita-Mae’s car. Mickey hadn’t commented the last time they were in it, but he can’t help but think it’s at least a little funny that she drives a Prius. He doesn’t think he’ll say anything to her about it, but he really wants to and he laughs to himself. </p><p>It’s even funnier because Ian seems to love it and talks about wanting to get a hybrid one day. Mickey just looks at him as if trying to figure if he had made a mistake by being with him or not.</p><p>“It’s a good car!” Ian says emphatically with a slight chuckle at the end.</p><p>“Yeah, I know, but you can't hear the engine. It doesn’t even feel like you’re in a car,” Mickey says, shaking his head at Ian with an air of indignation.</p><p>“It gets like fifty miles to the gallon.”</p><p>“On the freeway.”</p><p>“Come on.” Ian grimaces, but doesn’t actually look irritated, his eyes holding some mirth, showing amusement for the conversation.</p><p>“Whatever.” Mickey shrugs. “Toyotas are good cars, and this generation was the first to get the Corolla engine in it. And they got that power mode, so you can actually get on and off the freeway without pissing everyone off.”</p><p>Ian looks at him and beams a sunshiney smile that might be too bright for Mickey at the moment. </p><p>“What?” Mickey asks him defensively. </p><p>“Nothin’.” Ian shrugs. “You’re just really smart. That’s all.”</p><p>Mickey looks at the side of Ian’s head for an unusual amount of time, but Ian doesn’t stop smiling or look at Mickey despite the knitted brow and glare of confusion that is on his face.</p><p>“What?” Ian laughs at him finally.</p><p>“You really think I’m smart?” Mickey asks him, chin up.</p><p>Ian looks over at Mickey quickly before putting his eyes back on the road. “Of course I do. I’ve always thought that.” Ian’s face is now serious. “Even back in the day, Mick. I always thought you were smart.”</p><p>Mickey considers what Ian is saying and sits back heavy in his seat. “Tch...I didn’t even finish school, Man.”</p><p>“I didn’t either. Well, I mean, eventually I did, but I left in the middle of junior year.” Ian takes his foot off of the gas and looks over at Mickey for a second. “Educated and smart aren’t always the same thing. Some of the stupidest people I ever met were highly educated. It doesn’t mean shit.”</p><p>“Audre told me something like that once.”</p><p>“Was she also trying to convince you that you were smart?” Ian asks with a haughty tone.</p><p>Mickey quirks a lip and an eyebrow, looking over at Ian, who sounds bitchy, but is smiling. “Yeah,” Mickey relents, “she probably was.”</p><p>“At some point you’ll listen to one of us.” </p><p>“Fuck you,” Mickey says, but his tone is warm and it’s punctuated with a toothy smile.</p><p>They are getting closer to their destination and Mickey lets out a long stream of air from his lungs.</p><p>“You getting nervous?” Ian asks.</p><p>“Yeah, I think so.” Mickey wipes his sweaty palms on his denim covered thighs. Yeah, he’s fuckin’ nervous.</p><p>“It’s gonna be fine. He’s gonna be happy to see you.”</p><p>“But is he gonna be happy to see me after we talk?”</p><p>“Depends on what you talk about.”</p><p>“That’s not helpful.”</p><p>“I’m not sure why you’re worried.” Ian looks at Mickey in his peripheral vision and Mickey has a sudden urge to kiss him. He knows it’s probably nerves and him needing something soothing to get his mind off of what he's getting anxious about, but even the thought calms him down a little, knowing that when this is all over, Ian will be there waiting for him.</p><p>“I just...I don’t know. I want to talk to him about me and you, and I guess I have to bring up the...past...fuck.”</p><p>“Do you have to?” Ian asks sincerely. “I mean this time? You’ll visit him again, Mickey.”</p><p>“I don’t know.” Mickey starts to gnaw on his cuticles. “I guess I just feel like I need to.”</p><p>“What does Maria say about it?” <em> Fucking Ian always with the therapy questions. </em></p><p>“She said that she thought it was a good idea.” </p><p>“But?” Ian glances over expecting a response.</p><p>“Fuck you,” Mickey says, exasperated that the redhead is more intuitive than he looks.</p><p>Ian laughs boisterously at the grumpy love of his life. “She thinks it’s a good idea, but…”</p><p>“<em> But… </em> ” Mickey puts a long emphasis on the word and rolls his eyes. “She says I shouldn’t force it and only talk about it if I feel ready and it feels right.” Ian hums in agreement and also with a smug look on his face. <em> Fuck him and his cute smug fuckin’ face. </em></p><p>Maria had in fact said a lot more than that, but he didn’t feel like relaying his entire therapy session to Ian at that moment. She had stated that she wanted him to proceed with caution because not only would he be seeing his brother locked up, but it would also be the first time he would be entering a correctional facility since he was released, and she was concerned it could be triggering for him. She reminded him to monitor his physical symptoms of anxiety and to keep his breathing steady. </p><p>Mickey hadn’t considered that the setting might cause him distress since he had not only spent so much of his life in and out of lock-up, but he had also spent even more time visiting other fucked up family members in those places. In his mind, it was a normal part of life and had never seemed weird or even off-putting. He understood his comfort around detention centers was unhealthy, but he hadn’t thought about how he would react now that his life was so different and <em> he </em> was, in fact, different.</p><p>But he isn’t gonna tell Ian all that.</p><p>“Just be careful, Mick,” Ian tells him. “If you start to feel like—”</p><p>“Gallagher.” Mickey’s tone is loud and slightly harsh, but then in a soft voice he says, “I know.” He reaches over and runs his fingers up into the back of Ian’s hair. “I’ll be careful. I promise.”</p><p>Ian presses his head back into Mickey’s hand, obviously relishing in the contact, and giving a low noise of pleasure.</p><p>“I love you,” Mickey says and it seems out of nowhere, but neither of them flinch.</p><p>“I love you, too, Mickey.” Ian doesn’t take his eyes off the road, but sighs sweetly.</p><p>***</p><p>They pull up to the jail, Ian dropping Mickey off where visitors enter. Iggy had also put Ian on his list to visit, but Mickey and Ian had both agreed that Mickey should visit his brother first and alone.</p><p>“I’m gonna go get some coffee and then sit and read,” Ian tells him. “Call me when you’re done, okay? I’ll be close by.”</p><p>Mickey nods then quickly, before he can think about it, reaches over and tugs Ian into a kiss. They pull apart, Ian looking down at their lips and Mickey looking all over Ian’s face.</p><p>“Hey.” Micky smiles against Ian’s lips and whispers, “Thank you.”</p><p>Ian responds with a lingering chaste kiss, that lasts a little too long because before they can pull away someone is honking at Ian, who has double parked and is now flipping someone off, while keeping his lips attached to Mickey’s.</p><p>“Fuck ‘em.” Mickey smiles, pulling away, but cupping Ian’s cheek.</p><p>“I’m here,” Ian reminds him one last time.</p><p>Mickey nods and pats Ian’s cheek before getting out of the car. He steps onto the walkway and lets out a ragged sigh before heading in to see his brother, where he maybe possibly will talk about the past, but will definitely talk about the present and most likely the future.</p><p>***</p><p>Maria was right when she told him this would all feel different for him. None of it had ever looked so grim and almost dirty to him before. The chipped paint, the worn down counter, the stale smell of… <em> what the fuck is that smell? </em> Stale… something. It looked a lot less normal to him and far less comfortable than that last time he had been on the other side of the glass. </p><p>He can’t help but think about that cocky kid, so full of anger and self-loathing, that had sat in a cell here, waiting to go to court, fearing for his life at the same time as not giving two fucks about it. He can recognize now that all of these things were going on at once. At the time, everything was so wrapped up together that he could only recognize his mounting hatred of his father and the possibility that he may have signed a death sentence when he took the deal from the feds.</p><p>That Mickey wasn’t who is now, sitting in front of the window, waiting to pick up the receiver to talk to his brother, who has yet to be brought in. That Mickey—or that part of him, anyway—was gone. He thought he had maybe gotten rid of that version of Mickey maybe five or six months before, but now he’s pretty sure that he left the last little piece up on Starved Rock, where Ian had found him and then brought him home. That’s where it was left behind and he never wants that piece back.</p><p>The obnoxious buzz of the security door goes off and the tinny electric sound causes Mickey to jump. He’s immediately embarrassed and looks around to see if anyone saw him startle, but no one is paying attention to him. Everyone else in the room, just like Mickey, doesn’t want anyone else’s attention, and if anything, is pretending to be alone while they wait for their friend, loved one, partner in crime…</p><p>The door opens and Mickey sees his brother about three inmates back, and Iggy shuffles up and sits down across from Mickey with a crooked smile, picking up his receiver, ready to talk. Mickey does the same and also smiles back, realizing that he is happier to see his brother than he is anxious.</p><p>“Hey, Ig.” Mickey says.</p><p>“Hey, I’m so glad you made it.” Iggy looks about the same as he had last time Mickey saw him, his hair just as greasy and his fingernails just as dirty, but he looks to have gotten to a healthy weight and Mickey is secretly happy about that. “I don’t know who your guy knows, but…”</p><p>“I don’t know who Larry knows either. Just glad he knows somebody,” Mickey tells him.</p><p>“Yeah,” Iggy nods.</p><p>“So, how much time do you think you’re lookin' at?” Mickey asks, knowing that it doesn’t look good this time for Iggy. </p><p>Mickey had eventually found out that he had been arrested for breaking and entering, but that he was being charged with armed robbery because he also had a firearm on him. It didn’t exactly fit the description of armed robbery, but Mickey knew that didn’t matter. If a DA wanted to send a poor mook like Iggy to prison for something, he was probably gonna find a way to do it. Iggy’s public defender would trade plea deals for him and a dozen other people in exchange for the one thing the PD actually wanted in another case they cared more about, or just to clear some of their workload. And Iggy would take it rather than fight it.</p><p>“Man, I don’t know if they'll send me back to prison or if I'll get time served and community service or some shit. Who knows.” Iggy grimaces, but is obviously trying to smile.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Ig,” Mickey tells him, and he genuinely is, feeling a dull ache in his chest in response to seeing his brother locked inside a place that is all too familiar, but also feels foreign.</p><p>“It’s my luck.” Iggy shrugs and Mickey thinks about how that was something they all used to say a lot. “It’s my luck” or “it was just my luck”. Mickey muses to himself about how they would all say it. It was part of their language. Somehow it became part of their culture and beliefs system. If they got arrested, got caught it was either someone else’s stupidity or it was some invisible, supernatural force that was to blame for them getting arrested instead of their own fault for breaking the law in the first place and/or fucking up enough to get caught.</p><p>“I’m sorry again about that thing...talking with Ian and stuff,” Iggy offers with a snarling smile. They had already for the most part hashed this out, but it was still nice to hear his brother apologize.</p><p>With Mickey’s complete knowledge, Ian had written to Iggy, after Mickey sent his first letter, telling him that Mickey knew about their conversations when Ian was locked up, but that things were okay. During their second phone conversation Iggy had brought it up and Mickey told him he wasn’t mad, and that they shouldn’t waste Iggy’s phone time talking about it.</p><p>But hearing Iggy apologize in person gave Mickey a satisfaction he didn’t know he was seeking.</p><p>“I’m not mad, Iggy. Maybe I was a little. At the very least, annoyed.” Mickey moves the phone from his face for a second. “I knew something was up with the two of you though, but I couldn’t figure out what. Turns out you were plotting against me.”</p><p>Iggy looks startled, and he doesn’t respond or even move at first. A smile breaks out across Mickey’s face and Iggy visibly relaxes and nods his head.</p><p>“But you guys are together, right?” Iggy asks.</p><p>“Yeah,” Mickey nods. “We’re together.”</p><p>“That’s all I wanted—to help you guys get back together.” Iggy drifts off a little and Mickey can tell Iggy is thinking about the past, but Mickey isn’t ready to go there yet.</p><p>The topic he jumps to instead, that he wasn’t expecting to talk about, isn’t exactly much better and he doesn’t even know he's going to say it until it falls from his lips.</p><p>“Iggy, I need to ask you something. Is our mom dead?” He hears himself and sees the way Iggy flinches, like he’s been slapped in the face, and Mickey wonders what the fuck is wrong with him. Why would he just spring that on Iggy like that? <em> What the fuck? </em></p><p>“Where is this coming from?” Iggy shakes his head slowly, brow furrowed.</p><p>“Ian says—” Mickey’s voice suddenly falters and he clears his throat. "Uh, I talked to Ian about Mandy."</p><p>Iggy sits back, eyes wide and attentive.</p><p>“He was the one that helped her run away.” Iggy nods like he had already known this. “But he lost track of her about four years ago.”</p><p>Iggy sits up suddenly. This was obviously something he didn’t know. “He knew where she was all those years?” Iggy asks in a whisper.</p><p>“Yeah, but…” Mickey closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “He said she didn't stick to their plan and that instead she went...looking for our Ma.” Mickey pauses at Iggy’s loud gasp, but continues despite his brother’s shock. “Said she was all over the country for years looking for her, Ig. Last time they talked she was in New York. But he doesn’t know anything else.”</p><p>Iggy is slack-jawed and unblinking, unmoving.</p><p>“Iggy, say something.” Mickey begs, starting to squirm in his seat.</p><p>“I don't know what to say, Mickey.” </p><p>“Is she dead? Our Ma?” Mickey asks, feeling sadness creeping in. <em> Why the fuck am I talking about this? </em></p><p>“I don't know. Maybe.” Iggy’s eyes are glassy and he shrugs, speaking quietly and having trouble keeping eye contact. “I was like five or six. He beat her pretty bad and then drove off with her in the car. Came back after—I dunno—I was little, but I guess he was gone all day 'cos it was dark when he finally got home. None of us know for sure. But… I don't think she's alive, Mickey. No matter how scary Pops was, she wouldn't have stayed away from us. She woulda found a way. Even if he threatened to kill her.” Iggy sounds sure of what he is saying and the sadness stays in his gaze.</p><p>“But what if he threatened to kill <em> us </em>?” Mickey asks.</p><p>Iggy doesn't seem to know how to answer that and Mickey knows that Iggy is considering that it's a distinct possibility, maybe the only other one he would accept other than her death. Because why else would she stay away? He knows Iggy well enough to know he's had to believe that because being abandoned would feel so much worse.</p><p>“Are you gonna look for her?” Iggy asks. “Mandy? Ma?”</p><p>Mickey and Ian had actually talked about it just a few days before, so he realizes him bringing it up wasn’t as random to him as it probably was to Iggy, but he had still surprised himself. </p><p>
  <em> Ian brought up a funny memory that involved Mandy and they laughed until Mickey stopped laughing and grew morose. Ian knew immediately that something was wrong and wrapped his whole body around Mickey, drawing him close. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “What if I never see her again?” Mickey said to Ian, his voice strained and weak. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Can’t think like that,” Ian told him. “We can find her.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “We?” Mickey pulled back.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Yeah. I couldn’t find her, but I had nothing to go on. I didn’t even know your mom’s name, much less who her family might be, and I couldn’t really ask any of your family. Not really. Not at the time. But it’s different now.” The optimism on Ian's face made him look younger and somewhat innocent. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Will you help me try to find her?” Mickey asked, feeling overwhelmed and a little like crying. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Yeah.” Ian cupped Mickey’s cheek and looked into his eyes that had started stinging with the threat of tears. “That’s what I’m saying. We’ll be way more likely to find her working together.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Mickey squeezed Ian tightly, burying his nose in Ian’s neck, inhaling the combination of scents that clung to Ian's skin—natural musk, leftover motor oil, hint of whatever fruity soap was probably in the Gallagher bathroom. They would look for Mandy together and he felt relieved in a sense, but also still sad because for all of Ian’s optimism, he knew it was still a longshot. </em>
</p><p>“Yeah,” Mickey tells Iggy. “We’re gonna look for her together, but I’m probably gonna need to talk to you again and get some info. I don’t remember almost anything.”</p><p>“You’ll wanna talk to Jamie too then. He’ll remember more than me.” Mickey nods, knowing that it’s true, but still feeling apprehensive about contacting their eldest brother.</p><p>“Yeah. I will.” He thinks he’s telling the truth, but he isn’t entirely sure.</p><p>The conversation turns lighter for a short time and Mickey tells Iggy about the Chevelle and Iggy tells him about who he’s locked up with and that surprisingly causes a few laughs at other people's expense.</p><p>The conversation rolls around to the future, and Mickey sees Iggy’s eyes go dull because Iggy’s future is currently in someone else’s hands and he seems pretty sure it isn’t good, but instead of focusing on that he tells Mickey he wants to talk about him, and what his plans are.</p><p>“Well, eventually maybe I'll have my own shop. I mean,” Mickey looks away shyly, “it’s Ian’s idea really, but it would be really cool. Specializing in old cars like the Chevelle.”</p><p>“And you’ll be with Ian.” Iggy smiles at his brother.</p><p>“Yeah,” Mickey nods, “Yeah, I’ll be with Ian.”</p><p>“I just want you to be happy,” Iggy tells him and Mickey knows it's the truth. “Never wanna see you in here again unless it's on <em> that </em> side of the glass. You hear me?” </p><p>“Yeah.” It’s really all Mickey can say and he feels his voice falter. </p><p>“I know we talked about it and you aren’t mad—” Mickey starts to protest, but Iggy holds up his hand in a stop motion. “But I gotta tell you, Mickey, that I talked to Ian because I wanted you to be with him. Always did. Always felt horrible about what happened and what I did to separate you two. How I hurt you. And I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. I deserve to feel this way.”</p><p>“What choice did you have, Iggy?” Mickey finally interrupts him. “You act like Pops gave you an option. I was there. I remember. You were afraid.”</p><p>Iggy looks up with a touch of defiance in his eyes. “Would you have done the same?” He asks.</p><p>And Mickey has to think about it. Would he have done the same? If his father had ordered him to beat and abuse Iggy and his lover would he have done it? Under threat? Under duress? Because that’s how they did everything. That’s how they lived their lives with Terry every day. Under threat. Under duress. And he just isn’t sure. </p><p>“I don’t know, Iggy. I really don’t.” Mickey can only be honest with his brother at this point, but it hurts.</p><p>Iggy nods and half shrugs as if to say that Mickey’s answer is fair. </p><p>“You know, Mickey, you were always the strongest and the smartest out of all of us. Even when we were kids and you were so much smaller and younger than us, you were stronger. You never let us whine or complain. When we would be scattered apart you always tried to keep us together.” Iggy smiles, but then his smile turns into a sneer. </p><p>“I remember one time Pops was missing on a run for maybe two weeks. You were like eleven and me and Collin and Jamie were all teenagers. But you were the one that made sure we had food and that Mandy got dressed in the morning and got to school and you were the one that handled the social worker that came to the door looking for him. You kept us in line and made sure we had what we needed.” Iggy smiles again, but his eyes are sad. “That was you, bro.”</p><p>“Pft.” Mickey scoffs. “I never did all that. I could never get us what we needed. Not enough anyway.”</p><p>“Fuck you, ya’ prick.” Iggy sounds indignant. “You did. You were a little kid and we were trained dogs, too fucked up and too stupid to know how to function without the coked out, abusive alpha dog. You took care of everybody. And had nothin’ for yourself. I helped take away the one thing you had. That was <em> me </em>; I did that. I thought I’d never forgive myself for that. Until I got that letter from Ian. Then I knew I had a chance to make it right." Iggy lets out a stuttered sigh</p><p>“So did I do it?" Iggy asks. "Did I help make it right? I know I can’t change the past. I can’t make it go away, but please tell me that now you have Ian back that you're gonna finally be happy. I don’t even need you to forgive me. I just need to know that you and Ian got each other and that makes you happy."</p><p>Iggy looks like he might cry and it fills Mickey with a strange concoction of emotions that pushes down on his lungs and prevents him from breathing. He starts to choke out a breath and then looks up at his brother, shaking his head.</p><p>“Iggy, I’m not mad at you. I forgive you. I never really was angry with you.” </p><p>“But do you love each other? Are you happy?"</p><p>“I—” he realizes he isn’t sure how to answer that. He thinks they are in love. They'd, at the very least, said they loved each other, and that counted for a whole lot. And as for being happy… Was he happy? He knew he felt better. Felt good a lot of the time. And those feelings that he was experiencing that could only be described as good, were happening more frequently. Sorrow, anger, anxiety, regret...they were happening less and less. So through all of that, he could calculate a response to his brother’s question that he felt would at least ease Iggy’s pain and not be a lie.</p><p>“Yeah, Ig.” Mickey nods. “We’re together. We love each other. Working on bein’ better. I'm—I think I'm happy.” </p><p>Iggy gives him the Iggy Milkovich signature smile and a tear falls down his cheek that he wipes away as quickly as possible, not wanting to look soft, not wanting to look weak—maybe not because of Mickey, but probably because of the guys on that side of the glass.</p><p>“That’s really good, Mick.” Iggy stops and he looks like he’s considering something, and then finally looks at Mickey to speak. “Look, I’m pretty sure I'm gonna be in here for a while this time. So, I was wondering—”</p><p>“If you can be penpals with my boyfriend?” Mickey teases and then sits back realizing he just called Ian his boyfriend, and feels stunned, but also really good. </p><p>Iggy laughs out loud and the sound is sort of shocking because—well—they are sitting in the visiting room of the Cook County Jail. It’s not exactly a place filled with joy and merriment. Iggy calms down, but then shrugs and says, “Kinda. Yeah.”</p><p>“What?” Mickey says, sort of shocked Iggy was serious about that.</p><p>“I mean, can you and Ian or at least you write to me? Maybe visit once in a while.” Iggy looks young and shy at this moment and it hurts Mickey’s heart. “I mean...since you don’t hate me anymore.”</p><p>“I never fucking hated you, Iggy.” Mickey leans in. “And, yeah, we’ll write and visit. I mean, I’ll talk to Ian, but since you guys are already such good buddies, I’m sure he’ll be okay with it.” Mickey smiles at his brother, who looks sad, but also relieved.</p><p>They run out of time shortly after and their goodbye feels inadequate. Mickey is left with a sinking feeling that he won't see his brother out in the world for a long time. Armed robbery in the state of Illinois is six to thirty in the pen. Shit. Even if he gets the lesser charge of B&amp;E he could still get sent away for up to six years. It looks like Iggy's accepted his fate, but Mickey is having a harder time with it and wishes there's something he can do. He's just pretty sure there isn't. </p><p>So, he decides he's gonna try his damnedest to keep his word to his brother. He'll stay out of the joint, he'll be in love with Ian, he'll be happy. He wants all those things for himself, but now he wants them even more because that's what Iggy wants for him. He feels like he owes him that because, after all, his collusion with Ian did actually bring him and Ian back together. He owes him for that. A lot.</p><p>***</p><p>The fast beat and crashing symbols of punk music travels through the garage, ricocheting off of the closed roll-up doors and echoing off the ceiling. Raw, stripped down power chords, thumping bass, and vocalized melodies of discontent, anger, and sometimes love fill the space as Ian and Mickey work together on the van, Mickey bobbing his head up and down to the music while Ian sends him admiring smiles.</p><p>After Mickey's visit with Iggy, he was full of a weird kind of energy he couldn't shake. It wasn't quite the all too familiar anxiety and it wasn't exactly sadness. It was just… Discontent? Maybe. It just didn't fucking feel good, and he wanted to shake it. </p><p>Ian thought working on the van would help, so they went back to the shop together not really saying much, but working through some mystery feelings with motor oil and the sounds of three-chord progressions. </p><p>They're working on the cooling system, after having watched several videos and then taking it completely apart. Mickey feels confident that he knows what's wrong with it, but Ian keeps looking at it and puffing out his cheeks, filing them with air and then letting it out like a deflating balloon. It's annoying the fuck out of Mickey, but he also wants to kiss Ian's confused, befuddled face so bad that he lets it slide.</p><p>"What are we listening to?" An hour into the job, Ian acts like he's just noticed there is music for the first time.</p><p>"This is, uh, Fugazi," Mickey tells Ian, not looking up from the puzzle that's in front of him.</p><p>"But like the whole thing?" Ian sounds a little testy and Mickey chuckles, thinking it's cute.</p><p>"Oh, it's a playlist Audre sent me. It's like punk from the ‘70s, ‘80s… ‘90s I think. Some of it I've heard before like this and Sex Pistols and shit, but there's all kinds of cool stuff on there." Mickey finally stands up straight and looks at Ian. "Why are you looking at me like that?"</p><p>"You have a friend that makes mix tapes for you?" Ian laughs.</p><p>"It's on Spotify, dick," Mickey says with a smile he's trying to suppress.</p><p>"You know what I mean." Ian shrugs.</p><p>"I guess."</p><p>"You have a friend. A cool friend. That cares about you. That makes you playlists."</p><p>Mickey looks at him with shifty eyes, wondering what his point is. "I'm pretty sure she made it for herself and sent it to me."</p><p>"Doesn't matter. I'm just—I dunno. It makes me happy you have her around. You deserve it, Mick."</p><p>"You're being so corny right now." Mickey again tries not to smile, but he feels the corners of his mouth twitch up. "But I mean…Yeah, it's good. Now shut up, this is my favorite song on here. Gonna hafta start it over."</p><p>Mickey does just that, the low bass and angst-filled words ringing through the concrete and metal space and Ian leans against the van listening, a thoughtful look on his face.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I am a patient boy </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I wait, I wait, I wait, I wait </em>
</p><p>
  <em> My time, water down a drain </em>
</p><p> </p><p>"Whatsup?" Mickey looks over at Ian, who appears deep in thought and almost far away.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> In the waiting room </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I don't want the news </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I cannot use it </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I don't want the news </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I won't live by it </em>
</p><p> </p><p>"What's this song about?" Ian asks.</p><p>"I dunno?" Mickey shrugs, wiping his hands and not being convincing at all.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> But I don't sit idly by </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I'm planning a big surprise </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I'm gonna fight for what I wanna be </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And I won't make the same mistakes ('cause I know) </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Because I know how much time that wastes </em>
</p><p> </p><p>"You said it's your favorite song." Ian gives him a challenging look.</p><p>"Yeah...um...It's, uh," Mickey stutters, feeling shy, but trying to get his words out. "It's about being in the joint." Mickey lets out a ragged breath and he isn't sure why he's having trouble making eye contact but he is, and it's a feeling he ‘s trying to wish away.</p><p>"Yeah?" Ian raises his eyebrows and sounds genuinely intrigued, and it helps Mickey get over some of his inexplicable bashfulness.</p><p>"Yeah." Mickey tosses the rag to the side and walks closer to Ian, finally meeting his gaze. "It's about a guy that's locked up and tired of wastin’ his life and deciding he wants to get out and…do better. Be better." Mickey says the last sentence softly, peering up into Ian’s emerald green eyes.</p><p>There's a heavy silence between them while they search each other's faces. Ian smiles affectionately and Mickey feels his cheeks getting hot.</p><p>"That's a good song to be your favorite," Ian tells him, reaching for the front of Mickey's jumpsuit that's pooled around his waist, tugging him closer.</p><p>"It's got a good bass line too," Mickey whispers and he lets himself be pulled forward, almost going limp.</p><p>"Mmm," Ian hums in agreement, but also with desire.</p><p>"Know what the lead singer's name is?" Mickey rasps out, arousal making his throat dry, and he's not totally sure why he keeps trying to make conversation, but he hears himself doing it anyway.</p><p>"Hmm?" Ian grunts some curiosity that may not be genuine as his eyes roam all over Mickey, looking hungry and entranced.</p><p>"Ian MacKaye." Mickey presses his groin against Ian and grins.</p><p>Ian looks at Mickey and snickers. "Ian MacKaye? Ian. Mickey. Maybe <em> that's </em> why it's your favorite song," Ian teases and places both hands on Mickey's hips.</p><p>"You tryin' to get your arrogant ass kicked?" Mickey says with no real threat in his voice, only ardor with a touch of humor.</p><p>Ian rolls his eyes and smirks. "Yeah, right."</p><p>"You think I can't?" Mickey lifts his brow.</p><p>"No, I don't. We aren’t kids any more, Mick. I'm bigger than you now." Ian looks Mickey up and down, and it sends shivers down Mickey's spine.</p><p>"Fuck you." Mickey laughs despite himself. "You think you can kick my ass now? Pft."</p><p>"I know I can." Ian has a devious look on his face, and Mickey can see the wheels turning. "Know what else I can do now?"</p><p>"What?" Mickey says, pushing his chin up, daring Ian.</p><p>"This." In one swift motion, Ian slides his hands down, grabbing Mickey by the back of his thighs and lifting him up. Mickey's legs and arms wrap around Ian's body automatically, swaddling him as he swings them around. He slams Mickey against the van and Mickey gasps as he locks his ankles in place, feeling a rush of adrenaline and a reminder of the thrill he used to get when Ian would manhandle him, play rough with him. A thrill of a distant memory that had blood rushing to his face and down to his dick.</p><p>"Fuck, yeah, Gallagher." Mickey squeezes all his limbs around Ian tightly, and he can't help but gently rut against him.</p><p>“That's something I couldn’t when I was fourteen.” Ian's words land hot on the shell of Mickey's ear and makes him quiver.</p><p>“There’s lots of things you can do now that you couldn’t do back then.” Mickey feels himself growing hard, pressing against Ian's stomach, and he wants Ian to feel it, to know he's turning him on.</p><p>“Mmm, I’m a big boy now, Mickey.” Ian threads his fingers through the back of Mickey's hair and grips it while keeping one hand wrapped around one of Mickey's thighs for support.</p><p>“In so many ways," Mickey says into Ian's mouth then runs his tongue over his own bottom lip, barely grazing Ian's in the process, teasing him with a trace of wetness. "Ain’t I a lucky little fag.” Mickey smirks, running his teeth over his bottom lip and making a slow sucking noise as he does.</p><p>"Shut the fuck up," Ian growls, and his reaction only makes Mickey more inflamed.</p><p>"Make me, bitch." Mickey's challenge instantly causes Ian to grab Mickey tighter and move them towards the side opening of the van. He moves them so forcefully that Mickey thinks he’s going to throw him inside at first, so he braces himself, holding tightly to Ian with his arms and legs. But Ian doesn’t throw him. Despite his rough growl and commanding movements, Ian lays him down gently, staying between his legs and kissing into him slow and deep.</p><p>Mickey doesn’t let go. He can’t let go. He keeps holding tight because he has this gorgeous, arrogant, red-headed asshole tangled up with him, kissing him, growing hard between his legs, and he doesn’t want to lose that for even one second. Ian is everything to him in that moment. He’s his friend. His co-worker. His boyfriend. Ian is his first, only, and true love. And Mickey wants Ian all over him, on top of him, covering him and inside of him. He wants them fused together and at this moment it feels like they’re so hot that it can happen. Like their flesh can melt and weld them into one organism. And it just might.</p><p>Mickey bites Ian’s lips and reaches up to grip onto his hair. He feels Ian’s tongue between his teeth and slowly rolls it around between them, applying firm pressure. Ian groans around Mickey’s mouth and his hands find their way up Mickey’s undershirt, rolling both nipples between his thumbs and forefingers.</p><p>“Ungh!” The sound forced out of him by the welcome sharpness, the pressure and hint of pain, causes Mickey to release Ian’s tongue and push his head back, chin to the ceiling.</p><p>Ian responds quickly, shoving his nose into the spot under Mickey’s ear, inhaling him, and then opening his mouth to taste him, sucking a bruise onto Mickey’s skin. Ian bites into his neck, grunting and starting to roll his hips in between his legs. Mickey’s hand goes up Ian’s shirt and he runs his short nails down his back while the other hand pushes Ian into his necks. Fuck. It fucking feels so good. </p><p>The wetness, the firm hands, the piercing teeth, and rough kisses. Everything. Everything that Ian is doing feels good. Even the stuff that hurts. Especially the stuff that hurts. That’s the stuff keeping him present, keeping him feeling the Ian that is with him right now, not dwelling on a ghost that was with him when they were both the violent delight of a sadistic patriarch. The pinches and tweaks and rough squeezes. The hair pulling and tight gripping. The gnashing, scratching, biting… All of it. All of it keeps him grounded, connected to Ian in the present, feeling their bodies move together and creating pleasure for one another.</p><p>“Take your fucking clothes off,” Mickey demands, pulling Ian’s head back by his hair.</p><p>Ian wastes no time, standing on his knees between Mickey’s legs, pulling his black t-shirt over his head, revealing the hard curves of his chest and the perfectly chiseled V that peaks from the top of his jeans. Mickey surges up at the sight and before Ian can get the shirt off of his face so he can see, Mickey is sinking his teeth into that sharp line.</p><p>“Oh, fuck!” Ian howls, throwing his shirt to the side and grabbing Mickey’s hair in both hands. “Jesus, Mick.” Ian reaches down for the hem of Mickey’s shirt and starts to pull it up and over his head, forcing Mickey to detach his mouth. Ian tosses Mickey’s shirt and it lands with Ian’s. He pulls Mickey’s head back by his hair, holding him, face up, making it impossible for him to move. </p><p>Mickey gives a throaty laugh, strained from the angle he is being held at. “Mmm, Gallagher.” Mickey’s words are dripping with lust and affection and <em> want </em> . God he <em> wants </em>him.</p><p>Ian wraps his other arms under Mickey’s and around the middle of his back, forcing him to arch and their pelvises to align. He lowers his head slowly, a predatory gaze trapping Mickey’s vision, sliding his nose along Mickey’s as Ian’s lips hover just above his plump, bruised mouth. They are sharing a breath. Inhale, exhale, inhale… It’s hot across Mickey's face, rolling over his tongue and pouring into his lungs, and he isn’t sure how he ever breathed air before this. This is the only air he will ever want in lungs.</p><p>Mickey’s hands trail up Ian’s arms, over his biceps and across his shoulders, attempting to draw him in closer that way since his head is immobilized. And it almost works, but Ian is determined to tease Mickey, and only allows their lips the slightest bit of contact. It’s enough at that moment for Mickey to use his own lips to push Ian’s all the way open, and with their mouths wide, as Mickey starts to roll his hips up against Ian, he swipes his tongue along Ian’s bottom teeth and lips, feeling the channel running between the two with the tip, and sighing with pleasure at the contact.</p><p>Ian lets out a sound that is a gasp wrapped around a moan, and he loosens his grip on his hair enough to allow Mickey to push his tongue into Ian’s mouth a little further, meeting it with his own. Their kiss, so deep and warm, lasts for so long that Mickey’s back starts to ache where it arches and he can feel Ian’s legs trembling from the angle his body is at.</p><p>They break apart, sighing deeply, lips against lips, quivering. Ian grabs Mickey under the armpits and moves him back further in the van, Mickey doing his part to help, his feet pedaling backward. Ian reaches back and slides the door closed despite the fact that they are there alone, and the action makes the moment feel more intimate. And...safe. Mickey feels safe. Cocooned in their big, orange time capsule, insulated and protected from the outside world. They are safe.</p><p>Ian lunges forward, grabbing Mickey’s shoes and pulling them off, followed by his socks. Ian runs his hands over Mickey’s ankles and up to his mid-calf under his pant legs and there is something so intimate and private about Ian taking off Mickey's shoes and then caressing his ankles that makes Mickey’s stomach start to contract and he lets out a little panting noise that catches in his throat.</p><p>The sound seems to do something to Ian because he grabs one of Mickey's legs, extending it, and sits back on his haunches as he pulls Mickey roughly to him, lining his leg up with Ian’s body so that he can turn his face into Mickey’s ankle and lave his tongue over it, nibbling at the skin that is way more sensitive than Mickey ever imagined it was.</p><p>“Fuuuck, Ian!” Mickey hooks his other leg around Ian’s waist and pushes down on him, grabbing onto Ian’s thighs. Ian grips the back of Mickey’s knee and propels himself forward, pinning Mickey's leg between them as he kisses Mickey roughly and digs his fingers into the muscles on Mickey's chest. </p><p>Mickey’s skin feels like it's on fire and he feels a tightness in his stomach that tells him how badly he wants this. <em> Needs </em> this. “I’m not gonna tell you again. Take off your <em> fucking </em>clothes,” Mickey growls into Ian’s mouth, who smiles around it and sucks Mickey’s bottom lip between his teeth, letting go with a pop and pulling at Mickey’s nipple as he sits back on his heels again. “Fucker.” Mickey is beside himself and he can’t stop himself from gripping Ian tighter with his leg that is around his waist.</p><p>“Gonna have to let go if you want me to get my dick out,” Ian teases, smiling his cocky little smile that infuriates, delights, and turns Mickey into a vibrating mess of raw nerves.</p><p>“Fuck off.” Mickey lets go and pulls his other leg down, attempting to sit back on his elbows so he can watch Ian finish undressing.</p><p>“No, changed my mind.” Ian shakes his head with a defiant look on his face. “I think I’m gonna take your clothes off instead.” Before Mickey can say anything or feign a protest, Ian reaches down and yanks Mickey’s jumpsuit the rest of the way down, bringing his underwear along with it, throwing the clothing aside and then hooking his hands under Mickey’s knees in one swift movement. Ian presses Mickey’s thighs so that they are pushing against Mickey's stomach and Ian rests his abs right below his hands where he grips at Mickey’s flesh.</p><p>“Fu-uh-uck.” The word escapes Mickey’s throat on a staggered breath, his chest caving, his stomach clenching.</p><p>Ian’s trails wet kisses down the inside of Mickey’s thigh, making his way down to the crease between his leg and his groin, where he stops and runs his tongue, tearing a moan from Mickey’s lungs. Ian noses Mickey’s nearly fully erect cock and then trails his tongue along his balls, getting a sexy gasp out of Mickey this time, which he then responds to by sucking one in his mouth, releasing it, and then doing the same to the other.</p><p>“Shit.” Mickey is panting and he’s finding it hard to form words. He reaches down and tangles his fingers into Ian’s hair, tugging it slightly and feeling the heat rising through his groin and into his abdomen. Then he feels Ian moving lower and he squeezes his eyes shut, still having a hard time with what he knows Ian is about to do. Still struggling to allow himself to enjoy it, reconcile it in his brain, know that it’s okay to let Ian make him feel good.</p><p>He still gasps and arches his back in surprise, however, as Ian pulls his legs apart further, still gripping the back of his knees, and runs his tongue over the crease of both thighs, across his perineum, and around the delicate skin on either side of Mickey’s hole, and then flattens his tongue and drags it across the sensitive opening.</p><p>“Fuck. Ian.” Mickey is a writhing mess and he wriggles under Ian’s grasp.</p><p>Ian flicks his tongue up and down over Mickey and then dips it inside of him, breaching the band of muscle and nerves. He feels himself pulse around Ian as he lets out a long beastly groan. Mickey feels Ian moving his tongue in and out of him and rivulets of cum start to form on his fully erect cock as he involuntarily pushes himself up to meet Ian’s tongue, which makes Ian move faster, going deeper.</p><p>Ian pulls out quickly, causing an embarrassing whine to escape Mickey’s lips. The sound causes Mickey to freeze, waiting for Ian to laugh at him or give him shit, but he doesn’t. If anything it seems to turn Ian on more and he lets out a growl and gives a series of sucking kisses to the inside of Mickey’s thigh.</p><p>He lifts his face up and looks at Mickey, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “You got lube stashed down here?” Ian gives him a rapacious smile, which makes Mickey feel like he can’t talk. Instead, he reaches back, smacking his hand against the built in ice chest, signaling it’s in there. “Mmm,” Ian moans while slinking over the top of Mickey’s body, caging him in, but not putting any weight on him. He lifts up the lid and reaches in to pull out the small bottle. “Should have known you’d make sure there was some in here.” Ian drops down, slicking his lips across Mickey's cheek and landing against his ear, making him shiver. “It’s taken way too long for me fuck you in here.” </p><p>And Mickey completely fuckin’ agrees.</p><p>Ian moves off of Mickey so he can finish getting undressed, pulling off his shoes and the rest of his clothes and standing back on his knees, looking down at Mickey, who is sprawled out in front of him, waiting for him, slightly embarrassed, but not ashamed. And that makes all the difference in the world.</p><p>Looking soberly down into Mickey’s pools of blue, Ian seems to absentmindedly run his hand over his own stomach, and then down the length of his cock. Mickey squirms under his gaze and he feels like Ian’s setting him on fire from the inside. He clears his dry, gravely throat and tries to speak, “What?” Mickey croaks out the words and he feels his breathing become shallow with anticipation.</p><p>“You’re so fucking sexy,” Ian growls out, grabbing the back of one of Mickey’s knees again, spreading him open. He then pops the lid on the lube covering his fingers with its slippery viscosity. “I fuckin’ love making you feel good.” Ian rubs his fingers and thumb together, slicking them up and moving them closer to Mickey. “I fucking love <em> you </em>.” Ian pushes a finger inside of Mickey, slowly, but not so slow that there isn’t a little burn that makes Mickey suck air in through his teeth.</p><p>“Ahh,” Mickey cries out as Ian starts to move in him, not taking long before adding a second finger, opening him up, preparing him, readying Mickey to be filled with him. He hooks his fingers until he finds his prostate and then applies pressure, rubbing against it. “Ian!” Mickey gasps, lifting his hips off of the carpet and then laughing softly as he relaxes back. </p><p>Ian smiles down at him, the freckles under his eyes smooshing together. “Feel good?”</p><p>“Fuck, yes.” Mickey sits up enough to grab Ian’s face and give him a biting kiss that turns tender even as Ian increases the pace and adds a third finger, stretching Mickey further, holding his thigh tighter, kissing him deeper. “Want you.” Mickey’s throat is raw and his voice is barely audible.</p><p>Ian releases Mickey’s leg while continuing to thrust his fingers inside of him. He wraps his hand around Mickey’s neck and rolls his body on top of him, kissing him again, and turning his head so their lips slot together and allow them to more easily explore each other’s mouth. He lays Mickey down all the way, removing his fingers and then grabbing both of their erections together, slicking them up while he wraps his arm around the top of Mickey's head, framing his face for Ian’s continued kisses.</p><p>The friction of their two cocks sliding together in Ian’s hand, the increasing fervor of their kiss and the anticipation of what’s to come is almost too much for Mickey, and a strangled moan pours into Ian’s mouth.</p><p>“I want you too,” Ian says against Mickey’s lips. </p><p>But Ian is hesitating, and Mickey knows why. Because this is the point where, if Mickey is on his back, he would either flip around on his knees or lay on his side or push Ian back and get on top. This is the part where Ian lets Mickey decide where and how he wants Ian. And that’s because of the first time they fucked those few weeks ago.</p><p>The therapy around that moment was embarrassing and not incredibly helpful because he already knew why he had felt like he was choking and needed Ian off of him. And on top of that, his therapist had simply told him that he already knows how to handle it and that he would know when he’s ready. <em> What kind of shit was that? </em></p><p>But apparently she was right because he knew now that he was ready.</p><p>Mickey kisses Ian more tenderly than he expects and pulls him back by his hair. They look deep into each other’s eyes, seeking an answer, seeking permission, wanting to clear this obstacle.</p><p>“Yeah, ” Mickey whispers and nods his head, causing Ian to press back down, covering Mickey’s mouth, devouring him.</p><p>Without disconnecting their lips, Ian lines himself up against Mickey’s opening, Mickey feeling like his body is sucking in the tip of his cock, trying to pull him in. </p><p>Ian lets out a muffled “fuck”, still kissing Mickey as he pushes inside of him. Mickey moans and lifts up to meet Ian, framing his hips with his thighs and then using his feet to push on Ian’s ass, making him sink deeper inside of him. Ian stays there, seated inside of him, completely sheathed by Mickey, not moving until he starts to lift his hips up, demanding that Ian start to move.</p><p>“Fuck me.” Mickey breaks the kiss and breathes heavy against Ian's skin.</p><p>Ian doesn’t speak, but instead pants as he starts to move in and out of Mickey, still not bearing full weight onto him until Mickey pulls him down so their chests are flush. Mickey thinks he hears Ian whimper, but he isn’t sure. He can feel tension leaving Ian’s body as he grips Mickey’s hip in one hand and hooks his other arm under Mickey’s back, his lips and teeth running along the expanse of Mickey’s throat, leaving marks along the way. But fuck if Mickey cares about that. All he cares about is the way Ian feels moving on top of him, kneading his flesh and biting him, holding him tight and fucking him. He only cares about the fact that his cock feels amazing moving inside of him, fucking him, filling him with a feeling he’s pretty sure is the definition of what bliss actually means. </p><p>Mickey only cares about how much he loves Ian and loves his body against him and the way he can be soft, but also has a hard edge that contradicts his sometimes gentle nature. But really, Ian isn’t gentle at all. He never was. He’d always been a fighter. Tough and gritty. Mickey had just always seen him as delicate and vulnerable. Had this image in his head of this soft kid that was easily hurt and taken advantage of. And some parts of that were true, but he really had never been that defenseless. Ian was rough and strong and brave, and was also able to be soft enough to have loved Mickey, and tried to take care of Mandy, and loved his fucking family. And <em> still </em>loves Mickey. So it was the other way around—it was Ian’s tenderness that contradicted his rugged nature, which was revealing itself right now as Mickey realized that the wetness on his neck was no longer Ian’s tongue, but was instead Ian’s tears.</p><p>Mickey wraps his arms around Ian’s head, holding him tight as he continues to move underneath him. “Love you so much,” Mickey says into his hair as he plants kisses on the top of Ian’s head and against his temple. “You feel so good.” He whispers the words because they are true, but also to reassure Ian that what he’s doing is right and good and it’s what he wants. Mickey never wants Ian to question that again. Never wants him to be afraid to touch him or have Mickey anyway he wants. He is Ian’s and Ian is his and that will never be untrue. It never really was.</p><p>Ian lets out a staggered breath against Mickey’s neck and he feels Ian’s chest shudder slightly. “I love you.” The words dance on Mickey’s skin as Ian moves his hand between them and starts to stroke Mickey’s cock. </p><p>Mickey moans and squeezes Ian tighter, who then puts his forehead on Mickey’s while using his other arm to wrap around Mickey’s leg, lifting his hip up so that his ass is resting on the top of Ian’s thighs, shifting the angle and giving Ian the ability to drive into that bundle of nerves that makes Mickey’s toes curl and him cry out, which at any other point would be fucking embarrassing, but like many things tonight, Ian has managed to make him just not care.</p><p>Ian drives into Mickey until he feels his senses all tangled up and indistinguishable from one another. Mickey pushes their lips together as he feels himself tipping over the edge and he screams into Ian’s mouth as he spills into Ian’s hand and all over their bellies and chests. Ian lets go of his cock right when he's about to be too sensitive to stand it and then moves both arms so that he's resting on his forearms to frame Mickey’s head. He deepens their kiss as he continues fucking him, chasing his orgasm. Right when it's almost too much for Mickey, Ian’s hips start to stutter and he pushes in once more roughly before coming deep inside of Mickey, who feels the warmth flood him, filling him with a type of relief he doesn’t know that he could ever explain to anyone else, not even Ian. </p><p>He feels wet hot tears slide down into his ears. They are Ian’s. But they are also his. And he thinks that this is what people mean by a beautiful moment. This right here, with Ian still inside him, collapsed on top of him and breathing heavy, Mickey trying to catch his breath and both of them shedding tears...this is what a beautiful moment is made up of, and he doesn’t think he could ever have this level of beauty with anyone else. This was theirs and theirs alone.</p><p>***</p><p>She’s done. The Chevelle is finally done, the car that had been there for him when he didn’t know if there was anyone else he could trust. Mickey had purged his emotions time and again, greasing, replacing, clicking into place, wrenching...everything he needed to do for her he did, and it had helped him in turn himself around. Helped save him. When he had little else to ground him, he had that car. He had put every bit of himself into rebuilding her and putting her back together, making her run again. Making her purr. </p><p>And now she's done.</p><p>So now she's leaving.</p><p>Mickey feels the loss coming on, but tries to hold back any tears or outpouring of emotion, but the people by his side, witnessing the scene, being part of it all, can all see right through him, and he is pretty sure he doesn’t need to turn around and look at them right now to know they are already watching him to see if he is going to break down. </p><p>Or maybe they aren’t waiting for a breakdown, but some type of reaction nonetheless. It really doesn’t do any good to try to pretend or hide with them, because Mickey knows that they know him. <em> Really </em> know him. And he also knows that he's safe with them, and that means more than he can possibly fully comprehend.</p><p>Mickey tries to reason with himself that the loss will not be as hard as it would have been a month or two ago because he's acquired better skills and he now has Ian. And he thinks that maybe this might be why Rita-Mae brought the van into the shop for him and Ian to work on to begin with. Mickey has to admit that it's helped and will soften the blow, but he still feels emotion welling inside him and he knows it still isn’t going to be easy.</p><p>It was almost seven months to the day that Audre had called and told Willie she wanted Mickey and <em> only </em> Mickey working on a project for her, and now the project was finally done, sitting there in all her bondo gray and slick black glory. And he isn’t exactly sure he would have made it through the last three months in particular without her, but it’s time to hand the keys to Audre to let her fire up the engine and test drive Mickey’s number one coping mechanism through the rolling door. </p><p>Everyone in the shop is gathered around, even a few old customers that are classic car nuts, who had been monitoring the progress and insisted Willie call them when she was finally done. Mickey is grateful that everyone is behind him with the exception of Ian who is on his right and Audre and Rita-Mae on his left. But that's okay because they are the people that he isn’t gonna fool anyway.</p><p>“This is amazing, Mickey.” Audre turns and smiles at him, and he feels like the affection in her eyes is not just for the car and the work that was done, but also for him. Maybe even more for him, and it feels good. Six weeks had passed since she had brought the Chevelle back into the shop for him to finish the work and over the last six weeks, he and Audre had gotten mostly back to where they had been before. </p><p>No, that wasn’t quite right. He actually felt like things were better. Stronger. They had spent a lot of time over those six weeks talking about him, his past, Ian, and what he wants for his future. Mickey had cracked himself wide open. Not like he had done for Ana or Maria. It had been different. It had been emotional without coming out in a torrent, and it had been introspective and insightful without being clinical. It wasn’t quite cathartic, as Maria would define that word for him after his visit with Ana, but it still felt renewing. It was some kind of Goldilocks Zone that left him feeling understood and heard and warm. It also made him feel like maybe he was getting his shit together and that he was gonna be okay.</p><p>“It really is, Mick.” Ian smiles down at him, and Mickey feels a rush of butterflies swarm into his stomach. <em> What a beautiful fucking smile. Fuck. </em></p><p>He looks to his left and sees Rita-Mae give a sober and knowing smile to him as Audre nudges his shoulder.</p><p>Mickey hands Audre the keys, who clutches them to her chest, and he smiles, but feels a sadness creeping in and a heaviness that feels like grief. Audre walks towards the Chevelle and slams the hood down, and then turns to look at Mickey, smiling a big goofy smile that confuses him. That is until she says, “Don't you usually test drive a car before you give it back to the owner?” She tosses the keys back to Mickey, who almost doesn’t catch them.</p><p>He walks closer to her, away from everyone else because he all of a sudden really doesn't want to share this moment with anyone but Audre. Mickey is sure that Audre is aware that he and Ian have test driven the car multiple times over the last week to make sure all of the kinks were knocked out, so he also realizes that what she is doing is largely symbolic. It’s a way for her to say “thank you” and “I trust you” and “you deserve this moment”. Audre doesn’t need to say any of those things because he can see it in her eyes. She nods and takes a step back so he can get in the car. </p><p>Mickey can’t really make eye contact with anyone as he pulls out of the garage because he is sure he’ll either flip someone off or start to cry. At this moment there is no in between for him. Seems like that’s true a lot of the time, he muses to himself.</p><p>The engine buzzes and whirls as he turns down the alley and he feels electricity running through his veins. He takes her out on the road, driving through city traffic and then out toward the airport then on the freeway and back again. The engine rumbles perfectly, and he feels full of optimism and hope; he feels proud because she sounds amazing and is handling like a dream. The car really does sound like she's purring.</p><p>But most of all, he feels something that has escaped him, something that he knows he needs to feel that contentment he has been chasing. Mickey feels freedom. There is freedom that comes from doing good work and having pride in it and accomplishing something. Doing the right thing and feeling good about himself. It’s the freedom of not making a bad decision that would take so many things away from him, but also the freedom of being absolved from the bad decision he had made. It was freedom of his conscious mind and his body that had once not belonged to himself—not until recently, really—and somewhere inside is the freedom he isn’t as ready to admit, which is that of his soul.</p><p>Mickey had done all of this. Did the work. Did the right thing. Made something broken functional and beautiful once again. And it has set him free.</p><p>Time passes in a vacuum while he's driving the car, but finds himself at a stop light near the shop and realizes an hour has passed. He looks at his phone and there are no messages, but he feels panicked, worried that everyone will be sure he had fucked up, but when he rounds the corner and heads up the alley he sees Audre, Rita-Mae, and Ian all sitting in the folding chairs together, smiling and talking, looking relaxed and like a box of crayons—mostly because Audre’s hair is royal purple. They are waiting for him, knowing he's safe, knowing he's coming back to them, and happy for him at this moment that he now believes he's earned and that he's worth it. That will never go away.</p><p>***</p><p>“You ready to do this?” Ian asks, squeezing Mickey’s hand in his, his large paw encompassing Mickey’s.</p><p>Mickey shakes his head. “I still think this is a bad idea.”</p><p>“It might be.” Ian shrugs and smiles.</p><p>“Thanks, asshole, that helps a lot,” Mickey grumbles and glances at Ian quickly, nostrils flaring and eyebrows at their tallest height.</p><p>Ian just smiles his crooked, devilish smile and steals one last kiss on the lips from Mickey before they ring the bell. Pulling away, Ian takes Mickey’s chin in between his thumb and forefinger. “It's gonna be fine.”</p><p>Mickey lets a rush of air out through his nose. “And you're okay?” Mickey’s eyes are wide and he knows that if Ian gives one hint that he’s not, Mickey will turn them both around and head for the L.</p><p>It seems like Ian can read his mind, and he chuckles and says, “Yeah. I'm great; I'm with you.” He says it like it should be obvious to Mickey, and maybe it should.</p><p>Mickey feels a warm glow and thinks he's probably okay too because <em> he's </em> with Ian. Because they are at each other's side. So he rings the bell, and it feels like it shocks him, but he’s sure it’s just in his head.</p><p>Ana flings the door open like she had been on the other side waiting for them to get the balls to ring the doorbell. She pulls them in quickly, almost giving Mickey whiplash, and she hugs Mickey tightly and kisses his cheek. He crinkles his nose, but is secretly pleased.</p><p>Mickey pulls out of her embrace, but she keeps a strong hand on his bicep that feels affectionate and secure, and seems to calm his nerves. Mickey gestures to Ian. “Um...Ana, this—this is Ian.”</p><p>Ian gives a cute little wave and smiles. “It's nice to meet you, ma'am.”</p><p>“Oh my God!” Ana attacks him with a hug that causes him to move back a few steps and that he eventually reciprocates after a few beats. “Aren't you precious?” She gets on her tip-toes and whispers in his ear just loud enough for Mickey to hear: "I'm sorry about my asshole husband." </p><p>She pulls back, smiling and pats his chest. "Look at you. You're fucking gorgeous. Muy guapo." She turns to Mickey. “And so are you, mijo.” Ana grabs them both somehow, despite a short wingspan, envelopes them in her arms and squeezes them both so tight all the air leaves their lungs.</p><p>“Leave the boys alone, Ana. Let them in the fucking door.” Willie’s voice is teasing, but he also has a point because she still has them pinned down in the entryway.</p><p>She pulls back and looks at them, giving them a smile that is bright and genuine, and Mickey feels himself relax a little more. “Everyone is out back. I'm so glad you're both here.” She turns around and backhands Willie across the arm. "Shut up, cochino. Go get back on the grill." </p><p>Willie laughs and puts his arms around her shoulder, giving her a side squeeze. “Yes, ma'am.”</p><p>“Callate,” she tells him, smacking him lightly on the chest and then turning to look at Ian and Mickey again. “Head on back, Jenny is waiting for you both.”</p><p>“She has been <em> anxiously </em> waiting to meet Ian and she has a thousand questions for you, so be prepared.” Willie points at him before heading to the back yard.</p><p>“She has a few things she wants to tell you, also,” Ana says with a smirk on her lips.</p><p>“Tell me?” Ian’s eyes fly open and he looks alarmed.</p><p>“Like what?” Mickey asks, more than a little shocked that the five year old knows about their relationship and has something to say about it.</p><p>“Like you better be nice to her Tío Mickey.” Ana smiles. “She means business.”</p><p>Ana sees the alarm on Ian’s face. “Don’t worry, guapo, she’s going to love you.” She pats Ian on the cheek and then winks at Mickey before turning around and heading to the backyard.</p><p>They start to follow, a few strides behind Ana, who has short legs, but is quick.</p><p>“What does ‘guapo’ mean?” Ian whispers in Mickey’s ear.</p><p>“No clue.” Mickey shrugs.</p><p>"What about 'callate'?"</p><p>"It means 'shut your mouth'."</p><p>“Oh. Well, what does cochino mean?” Ian asks, stopping Mickey with his hand lightly placed in the middle of his chest.</p><p>“I think it means ‘pig’.”</p><p>“Oh.” Ian looks a little shocked.</p><p>”You get used to it. It's even better when she starts cussing someone out in Spanish. It gets all fast and cartoony.” Mickey laughs and Ian raises his eyebrows.</p><p>“You'll see. I'm sure it'll happen at least once today especially if everyone’s here. Come on.”</p><p>Ian won't move, and for a moment he sees Ian’s confidence falter. </p><p>Mickey turns toward Ian and grabs both of his broad shoulders in his hands, moving him to face Mickey. “Hey. It’s gonna be fine. They’re gonna love you.”</p><p>“Even Jenny?” Ian’s eyes are wide and Mickey hates seeing him like this because it just doesn’t happen that often, and it makes Mickey sad.</p><p>“<em> Especially </em> Jenny.” Mickey smiles and squeezes Ian’s shoulders, but he still isn’t moving. “What is it?” </p><p>“What am I supposed to be?” Ian sounds nervous, and it confuses Mickey.</p><p>“What?” </p><p>“Like am I your friend or your...boyfriend?” Ian shifts from side to side and looks nervous. “How are you going to introduce me?”</p><p>Mickey hadn't thought about it. He’d certainly called Ian his boyfriend on multiple occasions to multiple people, his brother included, but he hadn’t introduced him to people that Ian didn’t know, and he could see why it was making him nervous. But the family obviously knew they were a couple and he was sure they had been the topic of Sunday dinner more than once at this point. Still, Mickey could see, given their rocky history, that Ian would be nervous. </p><p>At the same time, Ian is also the guy that can go into a room, read everyone, and work it to his advantage. That particular set of skills had been a topic of conversation more than once over the last month, as Ian had confided in him how difficult it sometimes is, and how he feels like he needs to play that role all the time. But, Ian genuinely likes people, and he has a natural charm that puts people at ease and makes them like him back, so it is hard to judge what part is real.</p><p>Nonetheless, Ian sometimes isn’t sure how much of it is his authentic personality and how much is an act he has created in order to survive, and that bothers Ian. Mickey has an inkling that all of that is rolling through Ian’s head at the moment, him wondering if he is going to be able to be himself or if he is going to fall into character and be the person he isn’t always sure is actually him. He’s afraid. </p><p>Mickey grabs Ian's hands, and gives him a sad smile. “You’re my family. You’re my boyfriend. And we’re together. We're together, Ian. And you here with me, being who you are—who you really are—is all that you need to be. It’s gonna be okay.”</p><p>Ian's anxious expression softens to a sideways grin, and Mickey raises up on his tiptoes to press a kiss to Ian's lips. He squeezes Ian's hands once again and smiles back. </p><p>"Together,” Mickey says again and then leads Ian back to meet his family.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello again! Welcome to the other side of a chapter longer than some complete multi-chapter fics, including my own! (Plug here for You Can't Always Get What You Want 😉)</p><p>I hope you got what you needed out of it. I know there are still questions and even after the epilogue there will be, because life is messy and many things go unresolved and also this Ian and Mickey still have a ways to go. Our goal here has just been trying to get them on the right path. I think we did, but we might not get to see where it goes. And that's ok.</p><p>The epilogue is coming up and be forewarned it really is shorter than most other chapters. It's really the fluffy bow on top of the happy ending I promised.</p><p>Special thanks to my lovely beta @whaticameherefor. This was no small task!</p><p>I hope you all have a great start to your March and remember to take care of each other and take care of yourselves.</p><p>💖,</p><p>Chat Noir</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello Everyone 💖</p>
<p>Welcome to the last chapter of YDGT. It's been a long road and it's hard to believe it's finally at the end. </p>
<p>A few things...</p>
<p>See the end notes for Spanish slang translation. You'll need it in at least a few places. 😁</p>
<p>I made some changes after @whaticameherefor did her edits, so if you find typos or things that might be, please let me know. Don't be shy.</p>
<p>With that, I hope you enjoy the epilogue and final chapter of You Deserve Good Things.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h2>Halloween</h2>
<p> </p>
<p>Mickey wakes up well before his alarm, the warm embrace of the man holding him against his chest tightening around him as a set of lips caress the back of his neck, easing him into morning. The twilight blue of the early morning sky is in view as he slowly opens his eyes, feeling relaxed, feeling calm. And he recognizes that now familiar and pleasant feeling of satisfied warmth and comfort starting in his chest and radiating up to the crown of his head. </p>
<p>Mickey is conscious of his breathing, low and calm, as it causes Ian’s arm to rise and fall with his own chest, steady and free of any stuttering, not ragged, not pressured. Relaxed. His breath flows out of his lungs and the only thing sitting in his stomach is the flutter of excitement he feels when he once again has the fully conscious realization that Ian is beside him in his bed, holding him, loving him, making him feel safe and wanted.</p>
<p>He smiles because this is how Mickey Milkovich starts his day. Most days. Definitely this day.</p>
<p>He slides his hand down Ian’s arm and runs his fingernails gently back up to Ian’s elbow, delighting in the coarseness of the ginger hair under his fingertips. Mickey then moves his hand down to Ian’s wrist in an attempt to remove his arm so he can slide out of bed. </p>
<p>“Mmh uh.” Ian pulls Mickey tighter and nibbles right below his ear. </p>
<p>Mickey chuckles, his voice still raspy from sleep. “You have to let me go to the bathroom.”</p>
<p>“I don’t.” </p>
<p>“You do.” Mickey laughs some more and then rolls in Ian's arms until they are facing each other. “You asked for it. I got wicked morning breath.”</p>
<p>Ian opens one eye to look at Mickey, who is touching the tip of his nose to Ian’s. “Good.” Ian slides his nose alongside Mickey’s and plants a chaste kiss on Mickey’s lips, warm and affectionate.</p>
<p>“I’ll come right back.” Mickey pushes his soft lips against Ian’s nose, then to his lips again, then down to Ian’s chin. “I promise.”</p>
<p>“Fine.” Ian closes his eyes and releases Mickey from his tight embrace.</p>
<p>Mickey chuckles and kisses Ian’s forehead before he swings his feet off the bed and rubs the sleep out of his eyes, while Ian lazily reaches up and rubs circles across and up and down Mickey's back, making him think about how truly lucky he is, luckier even than he thought he was some six or seven months before. </p>
<p>He wasn’t the Mickey that had left Statesville, he wasn’t even the Mickey that had woken up the morning that Ian Gallagher had sauntered back into his life. Intrusive as it had been at the time, he doesn’t think he would actually have gotten to this point that he is at now if Ian hadn’t shown up that day. </p>
<p>All the feelings that used to force their way to the surface and threaten his well-being were at bay and he has more than he ever thought he could have. Yes, he has his job—one he's good at and truly loves—but he also has a craft and a plan for the future and none of it involves him doing something that will put his life or freedom at risk. He also has his own little place that he only sometimes has to share—or gets to share—with the sleepy, grabby redhead laying behind him. He has all of this without having to hustle, scheme or take unnecessary risks, and he’s filled with more than hope; he’s filled with what he's told is optimism.</p>
<p>It’s a weird fucking feeling, but it’s how Mickey Milkovich feels about his life, and that’s fucking fantastic.</p>
<p>Mickey still has his morning routine, but he often deviates because he can, and because he doesn’t need to have a strict regimen anymore to feel in control. Because he has other things in his life now and isn't afraid to try to let life happen. Because he no longer lives his life in a cage.</p>
<p>He deviates this morning for sure, and after doing some version of his bathroom ritual, he starts the coffee and crawls back into bed, a little more awake and with minty fresh breath. Ian rolls over on his back and opens up his arms for him, a self-satisfied crooked smile on his face and eyes that look like they're taking a bite out of Mickey. <em> Cheeky fucking bastard. </em></p>
<p>Mickey half lays on Ian’s barely clothed body, burying his face in Ian’s neck and squeezing him tightly. He pushes his body into Ian’s, moving it in small rolls against him as Ian wraps his arms around Mickey and holds him so tight he can feel Ian’s heartbeat against his own chest. </p>
<p>The undulation and what is almost rutting from Mickey feels like he’s trying to meld them together, trying to make Ian absorb him, absorb his flesh and muscle and bone. His blood. His soul. And it might be working because he feels like they are becoming one organism lying on his bed in his small “apartment,” breathing in time and feeling nothing but one another.</p>
<p>Ian reaches down and squeezes Mickey’s ass roughly, his strong fingers grabbing him so firmly that it lifts the whole bottom half of Mickey’s body upward, causing him to arch his back. Mickey releases a breathy sigh into Ian’s neck, and he never wants to start his day again without the possibility that this could be his reality. He always wants Ian in his bed, by his side, absorbing him, wanting him, loving him. This is what he wants for the rest of his life, and someday he’ll tell Ian that—tell him he wants to make it forever. But not yet.</p>
<p>“Mmm, Gallagher,” Mickey moans. “You’re makin’ my dick hard. You better stop unless you’re planning on doin' somethin’ about it.”</p>
<p>“I don’t have to tell you my plans,” Ian teases, trying to remove the humor in his voice, but not being successful at his endeavor.</p>
<p>Mickey responds by grabbing a handful of Ian’s hair and pulling his head to the side, sinking his teeth into his neck, biting him and sucking his skin into his mouth. Ian hisses, but also mewls, and it only makes him grip Mickey tighter, applying bruising pressure. Mickey moves up to suck on Ian’s square jaw and runs his lips to his chin and then shifts his whole body up to take Ian’s lips in his, parting them slightly with his tongue. Their kiss deepens, but doesn’t quicken, and Mickey thinks it might be the sexiest morning kiss to date.</p>
<p>When Mickey finally breaks away with a slow satisfied breath, he rests his chin on his hands that lay flat on Ian’s chest and looks up at him adoringly. Ian releases Mickey’s ass, smoothing his palms up his back and then running his fingers through Mickey’s soft, black locks, brushing them away from his forehead and resting a hand on the nape of Mickey’s neck.</p>
<p>The gaze they exchange is pure, sweet, and full of mutual attraction, affection, and just fucking love. They fucking love each other, and it might be the most amazing feeling that Mickey has ever had and truly believes that he ever will.</p>
<p>“You know you practically live here,” Mickey starts. “I know it's small, but you really should just move in.” He feels impulsive as he says it, but he's been thinking about it a lot lately.</p>
<p>“Yeah?” Ian raises his eyebrows. </p>
<p>“Yeah.” Mickey nods and smiles.</p>
<p>“I want to, but I don’t want to leave Liam.” Ian says it so easily that Mickey thinks that Ian has probably been thinking about it too. “I already feel like I don’t spend enough time with him as it is.” </p>
<p>Mickey can’t fault him for that. He honestly worries about the kid himself and he admires how much Ian and Liam love each other. For all of Ian's concern and affection for Liam, it has not gone unnoticed by Mickey that Liam also cares and shows great concern back for Ian. </p>
<p>Liam will text Ian and ask if he has his meds with him, make sure he ate, and simply asks how he’s feeling. It was something that in the few short months Mickey had been interacting with the Gallaghers he hadn’t really seen anyone else do, and it had made Mickey really appreciate the kid.</p>
<p>“Speaking of...what time are we supposed to pick Liam up?” Mickey asks, starting to gently and absentmindedly run his fingers up and down the sides of Ian’s torso, and then placing a kiss in the middle of Ian's chest.</p>
<p>“Four-thirty.” Ian smiles, looking so pleased and appreciative, and he knows it's because Mickey had opened himself up to another person, namely Liam, but also because he understood that Liam was important to Ian so Mickey never complained about sharing his time. On the contrary, he had let the little Gallagher into his life easily.</p>
<p>They had spent a lot of time with Liam over the last few months, and had even brought him with them to Ana’s several times for family dinner and once for one of the teenager’s birthdays. He had made friends with a few of the grandkids that were around his age. And Jenny had become fascinated with him, mostly because he fit into some kindergarten version of a dissertation she seemed to be writing about how family can be different and still be family. Sometimes kids are just way fucking smarter than adults. </p>
<p>She announced quite loudly at the dinner table one night that it was, “not just ‘cos your black. You talk better than Tío Canelo.” She also said it was because Liam seemed to be learning bits and pieces of Spanish way better than Ian was, which made everyone snicker because it was true. Ian had to ask what “canelo'' meant like three times, the last time being the first time that Liam had visited. Liam responded by rolling his eyes and saying, “Cinnamon, Ian,” which immediately endeared him to Jenny and several family members, including Ana. </p>
<p>The Williams Clan had welcomed Ian with open arms, and even more easily welcomed Liam. "Your family can never be too big," Ana had told Mickey when he thanked her for letting them bring Liam, and he was starting to understand what she meant.</p>
<p>"What time are we supposed to be at Ana's?" Mickey asks.</p>
<p>"I feel like you should know this." Ian chuckles and reaches down to smack one of Mickey's buttcheeks. </p>
<p>"It's gonna be fucking chaos. You know that right?" Mickey groans.</p>
<p>"It'll be fun!" Ian exclaims and Mickey knows that Ian really believes that.</p>
<p>"Ok, we'll see."</p>
<p>Mickey and Ian had been volun<em> told </em>, along with Jenny’s dad, Tre, to take a pack of the little ones, including Liam, trick or treating in the Shaggin' Wagon. They weren’t really given much of a choice, but for all his grousing, Mickey actually did think that it sounded fun. </p>
<p>The van had taken a lot of work. The more they fixed, the more they found wrong with it, but it had been an amazing experience working on it, not only because he hadn't worked on anything quite like it before, but also because it was something he and Ian did together, and they were both very proud of the work they had done. </p>
<p>They’ve been finished for about a month, but Mickey's being super picky about selling it. He refuses to sell it to just anyone because "she's special and deserves a special owner". Every time, Rita-Mae would shake her head, but smile wryly and walk away, letting him make his decision. He is definitely attached to the van, part of him doesn’t want  to let her go. </p>
<p>The difficulty and attachment is not just because of the work he and Ian did together, but also because it was where he finally felt he had broken the last remaining shackle that Terry had bound him with, and he knows Ian feels the same. Nonetheless, keeping her isn't practical and they do need to sell her one day.</p>
<p>But that day isn't today. Today they are taking a van full of rowdy kids trick or treating in fancy neighborhoods or wherever Liam decides is best. He's the man with the plan, so he had explained it to them when they took him out to lunch the previous weekend.</p>
<p>
  <em> “I downloaded this app—I told Jessie and Sandra about it—that shows on the map where all the best spots are and when houses are dry, and also when someone is handing out raisins and stuff that no kid wants to get on Halloween." Liam had been talking so fast that Mickey found it difficult to keep up, but he had tried. "And it gets updated in real time because everyone is putting in ratings and other information live. I found data from three different apps that showed distributions from last Halloween, and I made a map that we can compare to what shows on the app tonight. So, it'll be best if I navigate.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “What?” Ian furrowed his brow, and Mickey was positive it was because he lost track of the conversation. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “That’s smart kid.” Mickey just laughed. “Wait. How did you tell them about the app, are you guys hanging out?” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Yeah, sometimes because they live between school and my house, but we text and chat on my discord server more.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “What’s discord?” Ian's brow had not unfurled. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “They have cell phones?” Mickey asked. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “I feel like I should tell you guys that you sound old when you say things like that.” With that, Liam ended the conversation and moved on to costumes, which he talked about in detail, including historical information and socio-economic implications or something or other—Mickey had lost track too—until lunch was over. </em>
</p>
<p>"Your brother is gonna run us ragged," Mickey tells Ian after reflecting on their weekend conversation.</p>
<p>"I know." Ian lets out a low laugh and caresses Mickey's shoulders. "Hey, so, just want you to know that I’m betting that Debbie is going to throw Franny in the van last minute and wish us luck."</p>
<p>"What?" Mickey raises his eyebrows.</p>
<p>"Yeah, Liam says she's been weird and vague about taking Franny out, and has some new chick she's dating. He thinks she's going to go party with her instead."</p>
<p>Mickey grunts because he thinks it's complete bullshit, but doesn't say anything because he may be irritated, but he isn't mad.</p>
<p>"Also, Debs bought her a princess costume and apparently Franny hates it and wanted to be a ninja or pirate or something—"</p>
<p>"There's a big difference between a ninja and a pirate."</p>
<p>"Whatever." Ian shakes his head. "Anyway, Liam said he got her another costume and has it ready for Franny when Debbie plops her in the van and says 'have fun.'"</p>
<p>"I'm sorry, Ian, but your sister sucks," Mickey says to break the silence.</p>
<p>"Yeah." Ian nods in agreement. "Are you upset?"</p>
<p>"What?" Mickey looks incredulous. "What's one more ankle-biter anyway? I just think it's bullshit she makes her kid wear some stupid girly costume she doesn't want to wear and then ditches her for some pussy."</p>
<p>"True." He sees Ian thinking about it and he almost regrets saying anything, but Ian doesn't look upset just contemplative.</p>
<p>"You still thinkin' you wanna go out afterward?" Mickey asks carefully.</p>
<p>"What? You don't want to?" </p>
<p>"We're gonna be pretty worn out." Mickey doesn't sound convincing and he knows it. </p>
<p>"Whatever." Ian rolls his eyes. "You're just afraid what happened last time will happen again."</p>
<p>"Am not. Fuck you," Mickey says with no venom and he lays his cheek on Ian's chest.</p>
<p>Ian laughs and it vibrates Mickey's face. It feels good. Ian feels good. </p>
<p>Mickey knows he’s right, though. As far as he’s come and as many struggles as they have gone through, obstacles they have cleared, sometimes he still has a hard time with showing affection in public, and he definitely has a hard time when he has felt like they were “obvious” about the sexual part of their relationship.</p>
<p>“Mick.” Ian reaches down and tilts Mickey’s chin up. “Hey, if you don’t want to go out, that’s okay, but you can tell me the truth.”</p>
<p>Mickey sighs and kisses the fingers that hold his chin. “It’s a little bit about what happened last time.”</p>
<p>What happened last time? </p>
<p>Last time Ian and Mickey went out, Mickey had gotten pretty drunk and had ended up on the dance floor with Ian, grinding his ass on him and making out with him. Despite the fact that they were in a club, and no one seemed to give two shits about what they were doing, Mickey was mortified and had a really hard time getting over it. Part of it was that he overtly displayed his sexuality, which he still wasn’t used to, and part of it was that he had lost all inhibitions and that <em> really </em>wasn’t something he was used to or liked.</p>
<p>“Look,” Ian says, “I know that you were embarrassed, but I promise you, Mickey, that no one cared, but you. Well—”</p>
<p>“What?” Mickey’s eyes are wide.</p>
<p>“That’s not entirely true.” Ian smirks. “There were a bunch of guys checking you out.”</p>
<p>Mickey groans. “Shut the fuck up, Gallagher.”</p>
<p>“It’s true!” Ian lets out a throaty laugh that shakes Mickey’s body. “They were so fucking jealous when I grabbed you and took you home. It was great.”</p>
<p>“You’re an asshole.” Mickey smiles and rolls to his side, resting his head on Ian’s shoulder.</p>
<p>“Why? Because I like the fact that the hottest guy in the club was making out with me and that I got to take him home?”</p>
<p>“And that you loved how jealous it made everyone else.”</p>
<p>“Fuck ‘em.” Ian laughs again, and brushes Mickey’s hair back from his forehead once more. “My point is that no one cared about how gay you were in public, but you.”</p>
<p>“I know, Ian.” Mickey forces air out between his lips. “I’m trying to get over it.”</p>
<p>“I know you are. And like I said, we don’t have to go out tonight. Or we can just go get some food or somethin'.” Ian leans down and kisses his forehead. “Okay?”</p>
<p>“You won’t be disappointed?” Mickey asks. </p>
<p>“How can I be disappointed? No matter where I go, I’ll be with the sexiest guy there.” Ian chuckles as Mickey swats at his chest and then tweaks a nipple, causing Ian to hiss a little but also chuckle.</p>
<p>“I want to get over it.” Mickey props himself up on his elbow and looks at Ian. “I want to be able to hold and kiss you in public and not care. And sometimes I can.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, sometimes you can.”</p>
<p>“But sometimes I just get so overwhelmed and I say fucked up shit to myself in my head.” Mickey feels like tears might be making an appearance, but he really doesn’t feel like he should be crying about this, so he tries to hold back.</p>
<p>“I know.” Ian grazes the back of his hand across Mickey’s cheek. “There’s no rush, Mickey. You’ll be okay. We’re okay.” There is an instance of silence where they just stare at each other, searching each other's eyes. Green on blue. Blue in green. And it feels sweet, but he sees something thoughtful in Ian's for a split second.</p>
<p>“I’ll fuckin’ talk to Maria about it,” Mickey huffs.</p>
<p>“I didn’t say anything.” Ian laughs.</p>
<p>“That’s what you were gonna say next.”</p>
<p>“Was it?” Ian asks.</p>
<p>“It was.” Mickey looks at Ian, who is giving his goofiest of smiles.</p>
<p>“It was.” Ian nods with a self-satisfied look.</p>
<p>“I only see her a few times a month now, if that, so I can’t be wastin' all my therapy time talking about how you're not getting kissed enough in public.” Mickey tries to sound serious, but he’s having trouble hiding his grin.</p>
<p>“Shut up. Come here.” Ian grabs Mickey around the neck and puts him in a headlock, rolling Mickey back over on top of him, and encompassing Mickey’s bottom lip between his, locking them into a kiss. </p>
<p>"I love you." Mickey pulls away and looks down at Ian, rubbing his fingers gently over Ian's face, tracing his jawline and chin, taking in the features of the man he’s lucky enough to have in his life again. </p>
<p>But really luck didn't have much to do with it—Ian had everything to do with it. He had worked his way back to Mickey; he’d been tenacious, fearless, and <em> maybe </em> a little manic at times, but he fought to be in Mickey's life and now Mickey would fight to keep him there. Forever.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>It’s weird sometimes to think about how a place can hold so much significance for so long, your attachment to it can be very specific, with specific meaning, but then in time that all changes. You grow and evolve, so your perceptions and attachments change. That place no longer feels the same. Maybe it feels better, it definitely feels different, but it's not the same place it was before. Not to you, anyway. </p>
<p>That’s how Mickey feels sitting in Maria’s office today. It might be the first day he really notices it, strolling in with no fear and not feeling heavy with burden, but still some concern. Unlike before, he isn’t anxious about talking about it, he is anxious <em> to </em>talk about it. But anxious isn’t even really the word. He’s just ready to talk about what he needs to talk about, so he easily slips into the chair across from Maria with a sideways smile on his face.</p>
<p>"You look happy today,” Maria says with her signature expression that radiates kindness. “Do you feel happy?”</p>
<p>“Do people look happy and not feel happy?” Mickey asks with a smirk.</p>
<p>“Yes,” Maria says. “All the time, as a matter of fact.”</p>
<p>Mickey sits and thinks for a second. “Yeah, I guess that’s true, huh?”</p>
<p>Maria nods and tilts her head to the side. “What is making you feel happy today, Mickey?”</p>
<p>“Well,” Mickey starts, then sits back in his chair, not sure of his answer. “Um, I had a good morning. Ian stayed over and we got up early and walked to a bakery and had breakfast...watched the sunrise.” Mickey feels shy all of a sudden because he thinks it sounds hokey, but at the same time it’s real and it’s why he is feeling so good—at least part of the reason why.</p>
<p>“That sounds really nice.” Maria sounds genuine and he knows she’s right— it does sound really nice. “Are there other things that are making you feel happy?” </p>
<p>“Yeah.” Mickey sits back, his body opening up as he relaxes and his mind starts to pull apart his positive feelings. “There are. We had a really good Halloween.”</p>
<p>“You and Ian?”</p>
<p>“Yeah. We took his little brother and niece, and a bunch of Ana and Willie’s grandkids trick or treating.” Mickey can’t contain his smile and he knows that there are teeth showing, but he doesn’t care. Maria doesn’t say anything, which is usually a sign that he should keep talking. </p>
<p>“It was way more fun than I thought it would be. We went to a bunch of fancy neighborhoods. Ian’s brother knew where all the spots were and we drove around." Mickey reflects for a second and uses his index finger to hide a small laugh. "The kids got more candy then we knew what to do with, so I started going through it as we were driving around and letting the kids eat it. They all got spun out on sugar and were totally crazy by the time we took them all home.” </p>
<p>Mickey lets out an uncharacteristically throaty laugh and throws his head back almost maniacally. “Ian scolded me and shit, but I didn’t care. I wanted the kids to have fun. Wanted them to have something I…” Mickey trails off and starts scratching his eyebrow, his smile slipping.</p>
<p>“You wanted them to have something you…” Maria is trying to lead him along to the answer, but he averts his gaze and doesn’t seem willing to offer up what’s running through his head, so they stay silent for a few moments until Maria shows some mercy. “Do you think that you were indulging them because you wanted to see them have something you never had the opportunity to have?”</p>
<p>Mickey isn’t surprised that she figured him out. He expected her to. Wanted her to, so he looks up at her with a grimace and nods his head. </p>
<p>“Yeah, it definitely was because I wanted to see them have fun and enjoy themselves like we never got to do. See them wear costumes that weren’t pieced together with garbage from around the house or that they didn’t have to steal." Mickey presses his back into the chair and sighs. "Wanted to see them actually get to eat <em> their </em>fuckin’ candy instead of some sadistic son of a bitch taking it from them to sell or eat or who fuckin’ knows what he did with it. I wanted to see them be happy.” </p>
<p>Mickey’s voice cracks and he is surprised by how much the memories from past Halloweens are actually affecting him. But he shouldn’t be surprised; this happens all the time. This is how he’s worked through all of his shit. This is how he’s learned about himself and how he behaves and what he does. This is how he has healed and keeps healing. So, he sucks in a deep breath and slowly lets it out, then gives a sad smile.</p>
<p>“They were so happy.” Mickey feels a solitary tear roll down his cheek that he doesn’t bother to wipe away— that tear deserves its freedom. That tear holds all the sorrow of past Halloweens, and Christmases and birthdays as it releases from his body. And it deserves to make its way down his face, slide under his chin and drip down onto his chest. Its escape and the path it carves fills him with a sense of relief, so he closes his eyes and feels himself let go of any tension he was holding in because of what was kept from him so many years ago. </p>
<p>No, it isn’t the first time this has happened. And it won’t be the last. But this happening in this moment is one step closer to living without the baggage that Terry had strapped to his body so many years ago. One step closer to freedom.</p>
<p>“Honestly, even Ian getting all bitchy about me ‘spoiling’ them was fun.” Mickey snorts a little laugh and swipes a finger across his nose. He looks up at Maria and starts to smile. “He said, ‘Is this what it’s gonna be like when we have kids? You gonna let ‘em do whatever they want?’”</p>
<p>“What did you say in return?” Maria asks, looking curious.</p>
<p>“I told him ‘fuck yeah.’” Mickey can’t contain his laughter thinking about their exchange. </p>
<p>Ian had been trying to maintain some semblance of order while Mickey was encouraging chaos. Tre, who was with them, just sat back and watched, laughing and occasionally getting a kid back in line if they went too far, but not taking sides otherwise. Mickey thought about how cute it was that Ian was trying to be the “strict parent,” but it was something more. </p>
<p>Mickey realizes as he’s thinking about it, that what is also making him smile—maybe more than anything else—is that Ian had said, “if we have kids,” and in retrospect, it gives him a feeling of elation he hadn’t quite experienced before.</p>
<p>Picking up on his feelings right away, Maria asks, “How did it feel to have Ian refer to you having children together?”</p>
<p>Mickey doesn’t hesitate because he already knows. “I don’t know if I realized it at the time, but now it feels really good.”</p>
<p>“Why do you think that is?”</p>
<p>“Because he’s thinking about the future. Our future.” Mickey gives a satisfied sigh. “Together. Our future together. And he’s thinking about us having a family. I don’t know if he’s thought about it before, but he thought about it then, and that feels really good.”</p>
<p>Maria smiles back at him gently, and he believes it’s because she’s happy for him. </p>
<p>“Talk to me about having a family with Ian. What does that mean to you? What does that look like?”</p>
<p>“I’m not sure,” Mickey says honestly and has to think for a moment. “I guess it just means that we get a chance to have somethin' neither of us ever really had. Or at least a chance to make somethin' better than what we had.”</p>
<p>Maria nods for him to continue.</p>
<p>“And I think it means that we’ll be in each other’s lives…uh...” Mickey stops because the word he wants to say, and has said to himself on several occasions, including the day before, sounds like a jewelry commercial to him, but also because it's scary. </p>
<p>“Forever. It’ll be forever.” He runs his thumb against his bottom lip and adjusts himself in his chair, letting the intense meaning of that word sink into him now that it's said out loud.</p>
<p>“You like that idea?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I do," he nods.</p>
<p>“And have you thought about it before? You and Ian being together ‘forever’?”</p>
<p>“I don’t think I realized that’s what I was thinking for a while, but yeah. I actually think about it every morning.” Mickey gives a nervous chuckle. “Every morning that I wake up next to him anyway. I think about how I want that in my life, always. I don’t want to be without it. I don’t want to ever go without him again.”</p>
<p>“Does Ian know this?”</p>
<p>“I haven’t told him. Not really.” Mickey shrugs.</p>
<p>“What do you think would happen if you did?”</p>
<p>“I...I don’t know. I think he would be happy, but sometimes he’s unpredictable.” Mickey shifts a little. “I think he probably would be happy, but then might also get sad.” Mickey hesitates, and isn’t sure what more to say. Maria knows about Ian’s mood swings. They’ve talked about it before, but it can sometimes be tough to admit to someone else that there is anything wrong with Ian or talk about Ian’s pain.</p>
<p>“Why do you think he’ll get sad, Mickey?” Maria narrows her gaze.</p>
<p>“I think some part of it is because he’s bipolar and sometimes—not all the time, but sometimes—he gets depressed and it’s hard for him to deal with things that he has strong feelings about. And he thinks about our time apart, and that makes him sad too. Like we lost so much time. It upsets me too, but it just seems to make him so much sadder and he has a hard time shaking it. He tries. And I try to help him. It doesn't happen all the time, but it does happen.” </p>
<p>Ian’s illness and how and when Mickey can help him manage it, as well as how Mickey needs to take care of himself and let Ian help <em> him </em>, has been a consistent conversation in therapy. Sometime at the end of summer, Ian had suffered an episode of depression, and it had frightened Mickey because he hadn’t seen Ian like that before, but he hadn't felt helpless, and did what he needed to do in the situation.</p>
<p>
  <em> Ian hadn’t come to work that day and wasn’t answering Mickey’s calls or texts. He was immediately worried, so when Liam called, Mickey was already on alert. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “What’s wrong?” Mickey asked. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Mickey, you have to come over.” Liam didn’t waste any time, and didn’t mince words. The kid was straightforward and directive, which in that situation was much appreciated. “Ian is depressed and won’t get out of bed. He won’t talk to anyone and he won’t eat. You need to come now.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Mickey hadn’t wasted anytime. He was honest with Rita-Mae and told her what was going on. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Go, Milkovich.” Rita-Mae said without hesitation and then threw Mickey her keys. “Take the rest of the day. Call me if you need to.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> "The car?" Mickey held out the keys. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> "Audre can pick me up. Just go." And he did. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Mickey rushed to the Gallagher house and didn’t bother knocking. No one even batted an eye as he stormed in and ran right up the stairs and into Ian’s childhood bedroom. The room was dark and Ian was lying in his bed, curled up in a fetal position, and facing the wall. He appeared to be sleeping, but Mickey could feel that he was awake as he slowly approached Ian’s bed. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Hey,” Mickey said softly. “Ian?” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Ian’s body twitched for a second, but he didn’t say anything or turn around.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Liam called,” Mickey started. “He said you won’t get out of bed. Said you won’t eat.” Mickey stepped closer until he was right next to the bed.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Ian grunted, but didn’t speak and Mickey's heart clenched.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Ian, I don’t know what to do here, but I know that this is one of those times where I’m supposed to support you.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “You don’t have to,” Ian croaked out, muffled by his arms wrapped around his head. </em>
</p>
<p><em> “Okay.” Mickey sighed a little frustrated. “I want to, Ian. I </em> <b> <em>want </em> </b> <em> to help you.” </em></p>
<p>
  <em> Ian stirred under the sheet, but didn’t say a word. Mickey hadn’t been deterred, though.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> One of the things they had done months before was take time to thoughtfully go through their recovery plans together, and had even gone in with the other to their respective therapy appointments so that their therapists could go through their plans with them and offer any feedback they might have.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> They began setting up what they needed, so that if it did come down to one of them needing to take care of the other, they would know what to do and be able to do it. They signed releases of information for one another so that if there was an emergency, they could talk to healthcare professionals on the other’s behalf. They discussed what it would look like when the other was unwell and needed medical or mental health attention. They talked to their other support people in their lives so they understood. And they reassured one another that they did indeed want to take care of the other person. </em>
</p>
<p><em> On that day, when Mickey saw Ian lying in his bed unresponsive for the most part and hiding from the world, Mickey was unnerved, but not disheartened because Ian had told him what he would find, had told him the best way to handle it, and even what some of his responses might be so that Ian couldn't push Mickey away so easily—though Mickey didn't think it would be easy to push him away. </em> <b> <em>No fucking way.</em> </b> <em> So, Mickey was upset and scared, but not unprepared, and he was ready to take care of Ian, no matter what. </em></p>
<p>
  <em> “Ian.” Mickey slipped off his shoes and ran his fingers through his own hair nervously, “I’m gonna help you. Now scoot over and let me lay down.” At first, Ian didn’t move, but Mickey waited patiently, and Ian eventually inched toward the wall. Mickey pulled the sheet back and got in right behind Ian, ignoring the sticky heat of midday Chicago in summer and making himself the big spoon for once. Mickey wrapped his arm around Ian’s waist and laid his head on the pillow, leaving some space so Ian didn’t feel too crowded, but not too much so he still felt safe and cared for. </em>
</p>
<p><em>They laid like that for what was probably at least an hour, but could have been longer.</em> <em>Ian had refused at first to leave his house, but Mickey was insistent that Ian get up and come back to his place where they had both agreed at one point was the better place for Mickey to care for him. He had stayed with Mickey for several days, and he was able to check on Ian while he was working. </em></p>
<p>
  <em> Mickey followed their plan even when it was hard, even when Ian tried to fight him and was being a bitch about everything, even when Ian would act like he was sleeping and ignore Mickey, but was obviously awake. Mickey stuck to the plan.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Mickey encouraged Ian to get up and move around, made him go outside for walks, all but forced him into the shower, and wouldn’t let Ian refuse food. They worked through the plan and Mickey got Ian a phone appointment with his therapist, but at that point, Ian was already on his way back up to baseline and the conversation revolved around going through what they had done and what had worked and what hadn’t. There had been some suggestion of possible medication adjustment, but ultimately Ian decided he didn’t want to do that just yet. He promised to keep an eye on it and Mickey agreed he would be honest with Ian if he thought that he needed to see the psychiatrist. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> The whole experience had been really rough and Mickey felt emotionally exhausted after, but in the end, he felt a sense of pride that he had been able to see Ian through his episode and it gave him the confidence that he could do it again—that he could help Ian—and he knew that he could handle it in the future. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Ian was genuinely grateful, and they seemed even more in love after, knowing each other better, feeling each other, being there when the other was in need. It didn’t break either of them. They got over that hurdle together, were stronger for it, and trusted each other like never before. </em>
</p>
<p>Now Mickey's sitting here thinking about Ian's sadness when they had just been talking about him telling Ian he wants their relationship to be "forever", and he wonders if he's being dramatic. </p>
<p>"How has that been? Helping each other with your mental health?" Maria breaks him from his thoughts.</p>
<p>"It's been good," Mickey says honestly because it has been. "We've both been pretty good for the most part, and I haven't had an anxiety attack in months. A few nightmares, but Ian's always right there or close by, and he's real good to me. </p>
<p>"Ian struggles off and on, has breakdowns. He'll suddenly remember something he had forgotten about and it's like it just happened and he'll get sad or scared, but he usually understands what's happening and can tell me. It’s been happening more the last few months. He gets afraid that it'll be too much for me."</p>
<p>"Will it?"</p>
<p>"Fuck no," Mickey says incredulously, and he means it too because he just doesn't believe there is anything that could make Mickey turn away from Ian. Not anymore. "And maybe it’s Ian's turn to be sick."</p>
<p>"His turn? Is that a healthy way to look at it?"</p>
<p>Mickey stops and thinks about it. "Maybe not, but it feels that way. Like I was the one that was havin' a hard time at first, but now it's… His turn...I don't know how else to say it." Mickey expresses some frustration because he knows how he feels, but his words aren't quite right. </p>
<p>"Maybe a healthy way to think about it is that he finally has space in his life and feels safe enough to start processing what he has gone through and is finally able to let some of it out."</p>
<p>"Like with me." Mickey points at himself. "When I was living a stable life, or whatever, I started having anxiety and freaking out because my mind felt like I was solid enough to finally feel the danger I had lived in. Not all of it, but a lot of it."</p>
<p>"Exactly. Your body stopped reacting to fight or flight. You didn't have to be constantly searching for what you needed to survive, so your brain was able to start processing what you had to do to survive and the trauma you experienced." Maria confirms, and Mickey feels proud of himself for articulating so much of what he had been through. </p>
<p>"Instead of it being Ian’s turn to be sick, maybe it's that Ian is secure enough that he is starting to feel some of his feelings he hadn't had access to and is figuring out a new way to manage his illness with a partner," Maria offers.</p>
<p>Partner. Ian had once told him that his "partner"—or the rich old prick that had taken advantage of Ian, as Mickey liked to call him—who had put him up in a condo, had done everything he could for his mental health that money could buy. But it didn't sound like Ian's illness was managed with a partner; it sounded like his “partner” was managing <em> him </em>. So this was new for Ian just like it was new for Mickey. </p>
<p>Ian had also confided in him that most of the time, his stability had been tenuous at best. This has been the longest stretch of controlling his illness and also feeling some sense of happiness since he had his first manic episode. </p>
<p>They have times when they need to deal with Ian's depression. And the mania has been mostly controlled, but at the first sign of manic symptoms like excessive energy, they try to talk about it and use the techniques that Ian has learned and taught Mickey. </p>
<p>It's all part of each other’s plans, which has been a beautiful process that has strengthened their bond and also made managing symptoms easier. Mickey accepts that sometimes Ian has to deal with things by himself and sometimes Mickey has to recognize when he needs to do the same and express how he is feeling. It’s all a lot, but it’s something they both want to do and are better off doing it together than alone. So Ian has the safety now he didn't have before and an understanding of what he needs to do.</p>
<p>"I get it." Mickey nods. "He knows, deep down that I've got him. That I'm gonna be there, so his brain is telling him it's okay to let go."</p>
<p>"Sounds like that may be the case," Maria says. "Maybe you can explore that with him."</p>
<p>"I just want him to know that I'm good with it. I'm happy to be that for him."</p>
<p>"What would be the advantage of you telling him that or having this discussion with him?"</p>
<p>"That he would know it's okay and he's safe with me. That I'm his family, and I'm not going anywhere." Mickey says passionately, wishing Ian was in front of him right now. "And I want him to know that he doesn't just have me. He's got Rita and Audre too. And Ana and Willie and their family. He has all of us. We're all family."</p>
<p>"What do you think that means for <em> you </em>, Mickey?" Maria is leaning forward, looking at him, and he can tell she wants him to say something he hasn't gotten to. </p>
<p>Mickey isn’t sure, so he thinks, and Maria does like she always does and lets him sit with his thoughts, not pressuring him with words, only silence.</p>
<p>"Well, I think it means that he would know all that and trust me and trust that I won't go anywhere because he thinks I can't handle it. And…" Mickey pauses, almost afraid to say what he thinks. Like this is a test or a quiz and he might get the answer wrong or fail. "And, I think that me saying that to him means that the same goes for me. This is my family. Our family."</p>
<p>"How does that make you feel?"</p>
<p>"That's such fucking therapist question." Mickey can't help but laugh and he sees Maria's face crack into a wide smile.</p>
<p>"Does it make the question invalid?" He feels like she's teasing him, but it's a real question.</p>
<p>"No." He laughs.</p>
<p>"So?"</p>
<p>"It makes me feel… Lots of things. It makes me feel happy. It makes me feel...a little bit afraid because it's different to have so much—to have so many people that I know care about me, and that I care about. And afraid that I'll lose it. But mostly it makes me feel...I guess…safe." Mickey shrugs, but he does think that's it indeed.</p>
<p>"Do you think that maybe you want Ian to feel that too?"</p>
<p>"I know I do," Mickey says sincerely.</p>
<p>"Sounds like a good conversation to have." Maria sits back and smiles.</p>
<p>Mickey just nods, but knows she's right.  He will talk to Ian and make sure he knows he has a family, that he is cared for, and that he is safe. And Mickey had a conversation for Maria that he had told Ian he would have as well.</p>
<p>“So, I’m still having some problems with showing affection and being...I don’t know...obviously gay...in public.” Mickey tells her rubbing the back of his neck and feeling ridiculous when he hears the words coming from his mouth, and he shakes his head.</p>
<p>“Give me an example,” Maria tells him.</p>
<p>“Well, when we are places that aren’t familiar to me or I think that there might be people around that might be homophobic…” Mickey slaps his knees and sits back. “You know what, it’s not just then because I got fucked up at a gay bar with ian a bit ago and started dancing and kissing and shit, and, uh, I was humiliated the next day. I just got so upset.” Mickey looks at the ground and shakes his head. “It was gay bar…”</p>
<p>“You have made a lot of progress faster than I expected, Mickey, but it is still going to take time.” Maria’s voice is soothing and Mickey starts to loosen up and looks up at her. “It was only six or seven months ago that you said out loud that you were gay to another human for the first time. You will get there eventually, but there will be these times when you still have those old feelings.”</p>
<p>“Like what?”</p>
<p>“I think you know what those feelings are, but I’ll start with fear because that’s always been one of your biggest hurdles.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, true.”</p>
<p>“What else?”</p>
<p>“Sh--shame.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, that’s an old feeling. One I know you want to get rid of. What else?”</p>
<p>“Um,” Mickey scratches his head, “weakness.” He says it almost like a question mark because it’s a word he really hates.</p>
<p>Maria only nods and smiles. “What does Ian think of all of this?”</p>
<p>“He gives me some shit. Tries to push me along. Reminds me that no one actually cares--well come people care, but not usually any of the places where we hang out. But I know it bothers him because he wants to be able to hold my hand and be affectionate and shit.”</p>
<p>“Why do you think it bothers him so much?”</p>
<p>“I think because we spent so much time apart he wants us to be able to be whoever we want to be around each other without worrying about other people. Finally. And…” Mickey takes a deep breath. “And I’m worried that maybe he thinks I’m ashamed of us, which I’m not. Not really anyway. But he knows I’m tryin’.”</p>
<p>“Are you able to be affectionate with him in public at all?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, and he notices. I think he knows it’s when I’m comfortable. I know he wishes I could do more, but like on Halloween when I didn’t want to go out afterward because I was stressed about what happened last time we went out, he was cool. He gave me a little shit, but at the end he understood.”</p>
<p>“I think the best you can do is keep trying those things that make you uncomfortable. Push your boundaries here and there. And keep communicating with Ian when and why you are having difficulty. We can monitor your improvement. I would only worry if you regress.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, okay.”</p>
<p>“Sometimes things make us uncomfortable and nervous and that is an indication that we are not safe or that what is in front of us isn’t good for us. But sometimes things make us uncomfortable because they are unfamiliar or we don’t understand them. You just need to try to be aware of why something is making you uncomfortable, anxious, afraid...even ashamed.” Maria smiles at him and it makes him feel stronger, makes him feel like he can do this. “You have gotten really good at analyzing your feelings and trying to determine where they are originating from. You know what’s going on here. You just need to take each situation separately and decide what it means and how to handle it.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, you’re right. I know how to do that.” And he really does, which feels fucking good.</p>
<p>“Also, to be fair, there are plenty of people of all sexual orientations that don’t really like showing affection in public, so you have to separate that out from what is originating from your fear and shame.” Maria stops, mouth still open like she wants to say something, but is hesitating.</p>
<p>“What?” Mickey’s brow is furrowed.</p>
<p>“I’m not one to self-disclose often, but I think it’s clinically appropriate in this case, Mickey.” Maria tells him, her eyes scrunched together, which is not her usual expression. “I don’t hold hands with my partner in public. He’s comfortable with it, but I’m not. It’s not out of fear or shame, it's just something I don’t enjoy, so we have worked it out together. Relationships are a negotiation. You may not be the hand-holding in public type of person. And that’s okay. But you just have to figure out where different feelings are coming from and then work that out with Ian. It sounds like when you explain things to each other the other person tends to listen. Am I correct?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, for the most part.” Mickey nods, feeling a swell of affection for Maria. She just talked about herself and her life to him in order to get him to understand that some of his behavior would be normal, that it’s okay. He feels so grateful in that moment he feels a little choked up.</p>
<p>“You and Ian just have to keep communicating openly about these different situations and how they make you feel. You have to negotiate what is normal for your partnership? Make sense?”</p>
<p>“It really does.” Mickey nods at her and smiles. “Thank you, Maria.” To that she smiles warmly and it makes him feel so good, and it makes him believe he can do this.</p>
<p>After a short pause, Maria adjusts herself in her seat and crosses her ankles, which Mickey knows means she's formulating a question. Just as she's gotten to know him, he's gotten to know her, so he braces himself. </p>
<p>"Mickey, you said last time we met that you thought that you may have reached that feeling of contentment that you momentarily felt before Ian arrived. Where are you with that?"</p>
<p>"Um…" He isn't totally caught off guard, but it feels like they're switching gears. "Afraid. I'm afraid it's gonna slip away again. But I'm not always afraid. Just sometimes."</p>
<p>"How does it feel when you aren't afraid?"</p>
<p>"It feels really good. Not like intense good. More just… Warm and secure. Like I don't need anything. I'm satisfied. I'm… Content. Finally content. A lot of the time."</p>
<p>"Where do you think that is coming from?"</p>
<p>"The good things in my life." Mickey doesn't hesitate. He knows. "Work, Ian, my artwork. I'm not struggling for everything I need. And…my family. The one I have now, but also Iggy, even though he's locked up. And Jamie and his lady and baby… It's been nice seeing them once in a while. And it feels good that Ian is part of all that with me. It feels <em> really </em> good."</p>
<p>"Are you becoming less and less afraid every time that feeling is interrupted now, or more?"</p>
<p>"Less, but still afraid." Mickey takes a few beats to consider how he feels. "I think I understand I can't feel good like that all the time, but I feel it more now and more often than before. And I'm more able to believe that it is something I can hold onto. I'm ready to stop being afraid. I'm just not sure I know how yet. It doesn't mean I can't.</p>
<p>"I mean, so much of all of this has been about being afraid and facing fears and finding ways to overcome those fears, or at least being okay with them, and movin' forward. Not lettin' fear dictate my life, but using it to understand more about what I'm feeling and why.</p>
<p>"So, if I've gotten this far, I know I'll figure it out," Mickey says resolutely and realizes he feels pride bubbling up inside of him, and it feels good.</p>
<p>"That's very insightful, Mickey." Maria's eyes are kind and she seems to have a sparkle in them. "You know you've come a long way in a short time. It's been almost a year and a half since we've been doing therapy. You've been very successful. It shows how strong you are, Mickey."</p>
<p>Maria's words take his breath away because he feels it deep inside him. He <em> is </em> strong. And someone who deals with assholes like him for a living sees that and acknowledges it and speaks it into truth.</p>
<p>"Mickey, you have made incredible progress because you are intelligent and tenacious and strong. And I am proud of you," Maria says with sincerity and conviction. "You have faced challenges that have broken other people, and you have grown and worked hard to not let it destroy you—to be better. Not everyone can do that, Mickey. You should be proud of yourself."</p>
<p><em> I am strong. </em> He lets out a long ragged breath and nods his head.</p>
<p>Mickey feels a prickle of tears, and he is grateful for the woman in front of him and all she has done to help him figure his shit out. He isn't sure he could have done it with a different therapist. Maybe, but he isn't sure. He doesn't know how to tell her all that, but he wishes he could. Instead he keeps it simple and just says, "Thank you, Maria. You helped me do all that."</p>
<p>She nods and sets her pen and pad down. "I helped. But you did the work. You should own that."</p>
<p>And <em> that </em> makes him feel <em> really </em> good.</p>
<p>"I have to give my progress report to Larry at the end of the week. I'm going to recommend reducing sessions with the understanding that if you are struggling, we can request authorizations to increase them again. And you know you can call me if you have an emergency."</p>
<p>Mickey knew sessions would be reduced; they had talked about it the last times. And while it feels pretty fucking satisfying, he can't help but feel a little sad about it. </p>
<p>"Yeah, I understand." Mickey nods. </p>
<p>He feels good about what they've done. Through all the cursing and crying, resisting and yelling. All the fists pounded, lips bitten, and fingernails picked. Through the battlefield of memories shoved down so far they made him blackout as they pushed their way up, he had traveled with Maria as his guide, and made it out the other side.</p>
<p>They say their goodbyes and as he walks out to the street he exhales and lets out a long breath because she was right, he has done the work. He's worked hard, and he can own it. Most importantly, he thinks as he heads down the sidewalk, is that <em> he </em> got through <em> all </em> of this and he finally <em> knows </em> he'll be okay. </p>
<h2>Thanksgiving</h2>
<p>Mickey and Ian are sitting at the bar at Audre’s dive waiting for Audre and Rita-Mae, Mickey already three beers deep from Thanksgiving dinner and a whiskey deep from being at the bar. Ian lifts his hand up and squeezes the back of Mickey's neck, garnering a sweet, lazy grin from Mickey, who leans over and plants a soft, smiling kiss on Ian’s mouth.</p>
<p>"Oh my God!" Audre exclaims from behind him. "Are you being gay in public? Today really is a beautiful day."</p>
<p>Ian chuckles into Mickey’s mouth as Mickey pulls away and just shakes his head. "Jesus Christ, Audre."</p>
<p>“Hey, come here.” Audre pulls Mickey into a hug and he accepts it readily, genuinely happy to see her and Rita-Mae, who is close behind.</p>
<p>“He feels comfortable here,” Ian offers, and it’s true. He wouldn’t be this open if he didn’t, and Ian gets that.</p>
<p>“And they love you here—both of you—so I’m glad you do,” Audre tells them as she pulls back.</p>
<p>“I’m getting better,” Mickey says shyly, looking down, trying to hide the smile on his face.</p>
<p>“You are. I’m really proud of you.” She pats both of his shoulders. “Now get me a shot.”</p>
<p>“Alright, alright.” Mickey pushes her away playfully, and she gives Ian a quick side hug as they all go to the bar and settle into their seats and ordering.</p>
<p>“How was Thanksgiving dinner?” Rita-Mae, who had already patted both boys on the back, settles down next to Audre, the four of them dominating that corner of the bar.</p>
<p>Ian doesn’t say anything, only smiles, looking into his pop like he wants to laugh.</p>
<p>Mickey lets out a big sigh and scratches his eyebrow with his thumb. “That’s a whole story. I’ll tell you about it another day, but…” Mickey shrugs and looks at Ian, who he feels reassured by because he is smiling at Mickey now and there is mirth in his eyes. Mirth and affection and it feels really amazing. “It wasn’t awful, the food was good.”</p>
<p>Mickey, having only ever really had two other Thanksgivings that he can remember—one being years ago with his ex-girlfriend’s family (which still makes him wince thinking about because it was so fucking awkward) and the other being the year before with Ana and Willie’s family—so he didn’t have a huge frame of reference on what Thanksgiving was, but the fact that it was Thanksgiving didn’t make it good or bad. It was really that it was with the Gallaghers, which was a trip no matter what and he found the family to be...well...a lot. </p>
<p>Mickey had helped Ian prep the turkey, and everyone pitched in with cooking except for Carl, who no one seemed to trust in the kitchen. There was a ridiculous amount of food and someone referenced one Thanksgiving when they almost ate an eagle that Carl had shot. Mickey hoped he’d heard that wrong and luckily the conversation moved on. Kevin and Veronica from the Alibi were there, and Vee brought over the sweetest, most incredible candied yams he had ever had. Actually, he didn't think he had ever had anything like it. He wants a dish of those right now. </p>
<p>Yeah, the food was good, and he liked Kev and Vee well enough, but the dinner had given him a little more insight into Ian and it had also reaffirmed what he already knew—which was that he couldn’t fucking stand the Gallaghers.</p>
<p>That might be over-stating it a little and there was some shit that was funny. He also really enjoys being around Liam, who is fucking whip smart and has a good perspective on how fucked up everyone is. And, of course, he loves Ian. Really, if it had just been him and Ian and Liam, it would have been perfect. Maybe Franny, too. </p>
<p>Franny is a little badass and pretty much doesn’t take any of Debbie’s bullshit. The kid is five and already has a good read on her mom. Hopefully she’ll get out when she can and not stick around that mess. </p>
<p>Okay, so maybe he also doesn’t hate Frank either. Which is weird because really, he feels like he should. The guy was an abusive, neglectful asshole that only ever loved getting loaded and maybe their mom, who is nowhere to be found—like the women in his family...<em> fuck </em>. </p>
<p>But Frank is also funny and Mickey kind of enjoys how much he rattles everyone. Mickey thinks that maybe part of why Frank gets to everyone so easily is because looking at him reminds everyone of that part of themselves they hate that is just like Frank while also holding onto resentments that may never die. They all are a little like him. Even Ian, though he would be loath to admit it, and Mickey will never tell him that.</p>
<p>Debbie’s pretty much a street level genius and ripping, running, and scheming is second nature. She has great survival skills. But she also puts her base desires and what she wants above the needs of her kid, and then blames everyone else when she fucks up. Very Frank. But she’s also funny sometimes and calls people on their shit, especially Lip, which Mickey <em> loves </em> . She just has no ability to see her <em> own </em>shit, and it really is at the expense of others. He thinks that she actually is probably a bad person, but he can’t reconcile this thought, feeling like someone that can't really judge anyone on that.</p>
<p>Mickey feels that the way Debbie treats Franny is probably one of the things he dislikes the most, and has been vocal about it to Ian, who agrees, but there isn't much they feel they can do about it other than take Franny with them when they can and try to be good to her.</p>
<p>It also seems that Franny is close to Frank. And everyone hates it, but Franny and Frank. Mickey isn’t sure how he feels about it or if he thinks it’s better or worse than her hanging out with her mom. Ian thinks it's worse, but Mickey’s not so sure. </p>
<p>Franny is feisty like Frank and Liam is smart and distrustful. But he thinks and hopes that is where the similarity ends. He really has high hopes for those kids, and is finding himself feeling great affection for them which is foreign, but not uncomfortable, and similar to how he feels about Jenny. It’s probably only different because they're related to Ian, and that automatically makes him feel a connection he can’t explain, but is there nonetheless.</p>
<p>Then there's fucking Lip, who is book smart, probably has a genius IQ, but he's also a bad drunk and an arrogant prick. <em> So, fuck him. </em> But Lip does love his brother, he just can be selfish and gives really bad advice. He knows Ian wants him to get over his distrust and general distaste for Lip, but he isn't sure he can, and Lip doesn't seem in a hurry to love Mickey anytime soon either. They're currently at a comfortable stalemate and he thinks them staying there is the best possible outcome. </p>
<p>Mickey does like Lip’s lady, Tami, which surprises him. She’s direct and bitchy and she can go toe to toe with Lip’s smart ass mouth. Their kid is cute too.</p>
<p>Still...<em> fuck Lip. </em></p>
<p>Carl...not sure who Carl is like. That kid was a little thug that then became a...cop? And he isn’t very bright. Kid’s always looking for a girlfriend too and according to Ian, his taste in women is fucking awful. Like psychos. He thinks maybe he doesn’t hate Carl, but he doesn’t get him, and despite all of his reform and rehabilitation, it pisses him off that he ate Thanksgiving dinner with a cop.</p>
<p>And Ian...Mickey had just found out a month before that he Ian isn’t really Frank’s son, and it sounds like Ian is a lot like his mom and not just because of the bipolar, but also because they are both romantics—at least according to Frank with nods of agreement from the Gallagher children. Romantics with the burden of their illnesses and the utter dysfunction that comes with living in poverty and in the Gallagher family, so the romanticism just ends up looking like chaos. Although, Ian’s chaos is definitely more controlled these days. Frank also added at dinner that “Ian has always been a drama queen”, and Mickey almost spit his food out, holding back a laugh.</p>
<p>Ian <em> is </em> also like Frank and Mickey thought it was hilarious when he realized it. They have the same “fuck you for trying to tell me who I am” attitude. The same temper and tendency to get irritated by...lots of shit actually, as Mickey was discovering. They both get shrill and in people’s faces, though Ian doesn’t do it much anymore (according to Ian). Mickey did see it a few times over the last six months. Mostly when they were out and about, and at least one of the instances was out of jealousy, which got Mickey’s dick hard when it happened, so he had Ian fuck him in the bathroom stall at the bar they were at. <em> It was fuckin’ hot. </em></p>
<p>They talked about Fiona at dinner, and he really has to give her credit for how much she had done from the time she was a little girl until she left when Ian was still in prison. Ian is happy for her that she got out, and Mickey thinks, “Yeah, she did a lot. Live your life.” But Mickey is also upset that she left Liam behind with all these fuckheads. At least Ian is out now and can watch over the kid, part-time anyway. He can’t help it though, he still wants to tell her to go fuck herself  and everyone else when he thinks that none of them <em> really </em>cared about Ian. They’d let him just take off and not really cared about where he was. Except Debbie. So there was maybe one more thing he liked about her. </p>
<p>But, again, who is he to judge? He hadn’t exactly stepped up either. At least that is still how he feels, despite Ian’s constant insistence that he understands and that just wasn’t how their lives were meant to unfold. </p>
<p>Not in this universe.</p>
<p>So, Frank was a fucking asshole, and most of his kids pretty much were too, having some piece of him no matter how big or small, and Mickey hated how he heard Frank had treated Ian over the years, but he couldn’t help but have some affinity for him and upon reflection, he thinks it’s probably because when Ian first introduced Mickey to Frank as his boyfriend, Frank didn’t even bat an eye. The only thing he did was get too close to Mickey’s face, being rip shit drunk, exhaling stale beer breath, and narrowed his eyes and said suspiciously: “You’re a Milkovich.” Then he stepped back and looked at Mickey again and then to Ian, and gave a full belly laugh. “Oh, man. Fuck Terry. May he rest in peace.” </p>
<p>Frank had started to walk away and then slurred out over his shoulder, “You guys are a beautiful couple. Congratulations, Ian, on finding someone that can stand you.” He tipped up his beer bottle and left.</p>
<p>Ian had huffed, “What a prick.” But Mickey laughed. He couldn’t help it. It was funny.</p>
<p>And maybe he likes Frank a little because he didn’t care that they were two men in a relationship. Also, he found out later, Frank was an opportunist and had sex with pretty much whoever, and that included men. Sometimes for money or to get something, but he also seemed to get off with whoever would get off with him. That was courtesy of Liam, who told them that Frank gave a whole group of moms and dads from his school chlamydia. </p>
<p>Lastly, when he found out the Ian was gay, Ian said that Frank told him, “What’s the big deal? Men have always had men.” And how fucking cool would that have been if that had been Terry’s response? Weird and out of character, but cool and life changing. No wonder Ian had not really tried to hide it after a while. He felt safe at home, could fight, and had inherited a tenacious will and a romantic sensibility. </p>
<p><em> God </em>, Mickey loved him. </p>
<p>So he had to like Frank at least a little. If not for being kinda funny and definitely smarter than most people in a room, he had given him Ian the way he was and that, he couldn’t repay.</p>
<p>In the end, maybe he doesn’t hate the family—except Lip, he still fucking hates Lip—but he hates that Ian ever was hurt by any of them and that they made him feel abandoned and less than important. But Ian wouldn’t be who he is without them and he loves Ian, exactly how he is, even when he wants him to shut the fuck up or is mad at him. He still loves this version of Ian. </p>
<p>And maybe he doesn’t hate having another place where they can go to have dinner with a group of people that may suck, but probably love each other and have actually done a lot just to help each other survive. He can’t be mad at that. It’s fucked up, but it feels like a home, and that is something he can’t turn his nose up at or feel derisive toward.</p>
<p>He doesn’t need to say all that right now. And probably never will say it out loud to anyone, which is okay. No one else really needs to hear all that, except maybe Ian, and only if it seemed like that right time. Now is not that time.</p>
<p>“Yeah, the food was good.” Mickey takes a swig of beer and shrugs.</p>
<p>Ian nods enthusiastically and tells a few anecdotes about the food that Mickey can’t recall because he is spaced out on the big dopey smile Ian is making with his pink lips and the way he is using his hands to talk, especially when he is emphatic about something, and how his cheeks scrunch up into his eyes, pushing freckle clusters together to make a few bigger freckles. And the way he puts his palm on his chest when he laughs and throws his whole upper body back, not just his head. Mickey’s watching all that but he has no fucking clue what Ian is talking about because he's mesmerized by the man he loves. </p>
<p>Mickey smiles up at him and he’s sure Ian thinks it’s because of what he’s saying, but he doesn’t need to know it’s because Mickey thinks the redhead is the most beautiful, ridiculously sexy person on the planet, and he’s all his.</p>
<p>Someone jars him out of his head with a slight elbow jab—someone being Audre. </p>
<p>“Right, Mick?” Ian says. </p>
<p>“Uh, yeah,” Mickey agrees to god knows what, and then looks over at Audre who gives him a mirthful grimace, and turns her head to laugh. Mickey narrows his eyes at her slyly. <em> This bitch always knows what I’m thinking. </em>And he’s equal parts annoyed and grateful.</p>
<p>“Oh, dude, that sounds so good.” Audre rubs her tummy. “I fuckin’ love Thanksgiving.”</p>
<p>“Aren’t you social justice types supposed to hate Thanksgiving because of it representin’ the beginning of oppression for Indians or some shit?” Mickey is in the mood to fuck with her and this seems like the perfect opportunity.</p>
<p>“Native Americans, Mick,” Ian corrects.</p>
<p>“Yeah, alright, PC Principal.” Mickey frowns at Ian, who only smiles back.</p>
<p>“You know, all of this is true, but my people have really co-opted it and transformed it into a different holiday that is more about the eating,” Audre tells him with a straight face.</p>
<p>“Your people?” Mickey raises his eyebrows at her.</p>
<p>“Yeah, fat people. It’s our time to shine.” Audre raises her arms victoriously, which makes Ian giggle and Mickey’s frown deepen.</p>
<p>“Stop it,” Rita-Mae chastises her, but it doesn’t stop Audre.</p>
<p>“What?” Audre looks at Rita-Mae making goo-goo eyes. “I have a fat ass and belly and I’m proud of it. And I fucking love stuffing. Oh, my goddess. Drool face.” Audre tilts her head back.</p>
<p>Mickey can see that Rita-Mae can’t help herself and she rubs her hand across Audre’s ass and it makes him want to pour bleach in his eyes, but it also makes him smirk a little and think how cool it is that Rita-Mae loves Audre so much that she can’t keep her fucking hands off her.</p>
<p>The four of them hanging out has become somewhat of a regular thing, but Mickey is still getting used to hanging out with Ian, his best friend, and her girlfriend, who is also his boss. And it's taken even more getting used to the realization that Audre wears the pants in the relationship, something Mickey never expected. Rita-Mae isn't really submissive, and she has no problems telling Audre ‘no’, but Audre is definitely the one in charge, which Rita-Mae seems to like, and relaxes into. Everything about Rita-Mae is just a little bit lighter when she’s with Audre, which makes Mickey think that maybe Audre is the first person she’s felt safe with who she can let herself just be with. Like him and Ian. And that gives him comfort. </p>
<p>But, the two women are really touchy-feely in front of Mickey and Ian, so he's also still getting used to <em> that </em>. He's not sure he ever will. He still just can’t seem to get used to them making intimate gestures with each other, but he tries to act unfazed because he’s glad they have each other and wants them to be happy. They really do seem to make each other happy.</p>
<p>"You're right though, Mick." Mickey sees Audre has become earnest, her tone serious, and he thinks he probably shouldn't have teased her. </p>
<p>"Thanksgiving can be a very bitter time of year for people. And understandably so. I try to do what I can year round for people in all communities, but I step it up around the end of fall and through the winter. Especially in the homeless community.” Audre nods soberly. “You should join me, Mick. I’m going out next week after work to deliver supplies to some of the homeless encampments and then doing some work with the AIC the weekend after.”</p>
<p>“What’s that?” Ian looks around Mickey at Audre and asks eagerly.</p>
<p>“American Indians Collaborative. One of my friends is on the board and he got me involved several years ago. I can’t be a member for obvious reasons, but they always need help. I just follow their lead.”</p>
<p>“She gets to say Indian?” Mickey looks at Ian, who ignores him completely because he’s obviously focused on Audre.</p>
<p>“I wanna help,” Ian offers, lifting up in his seat with excitement.</p>
<p>“That’d be cool, kid.” Audre smiles. “What about you?” She nudges Mickey.</p>
<p>“I’m good.” Mickey clears his throat and straightens out his jean jacket. “Ian can represent both of us. He seems real excited.”</p>
<p>Audre just shakes her head and smiles. “Yeah, alright, I can’t see you having the patience to deal with that many people in one day anyway.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, no fuckin’ way,” Mickey says, “It’s great and all and I’ll donate like money for blankets or somethin’ for the encampments, but I just really don’t think that’s for me.”</p>
<p>“Fair enough.” Audre shrugs and smiles. “But I’m gonna actually hold you to the monetary donations.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, fine,” Mickey grouses, but isn’t really annoyed. And he does actually wish he wanted to go out with Audre and Ian to help people, but the idea of being around so many desperate, hungry, and cold fuckers fills him with a type of anxiety that he imagines comes from not really enjoying being around a lot of people at once, but also the sadness he knows he’ll feel from being around people that are destitute and suffering. </p>
<p>Mickey knows a lot of it is because he spent too many years around people like that. He knows it’ll remind him of sitting in his cold house, trying not to freeze to death because no one had enough money to turn the heat on, or all the nights he went to bed with his stomach rumbling because there was no food in the house. </p>
<p>He wants to help. With every bone in his body, he wants to be able to help other people now that he's no longer that cold and hungry kid, but he doesn’t think he has the wherewithal, so he’ll give Audre money and rub Ian’s back when he gets home, listen to his stories, and praise him for his hard work, but he can’t go himself, and he decides that <em> that's </em> okay. <em> Know your limitations, </em> Maria's voice sings out in his head.</p>
<p>He’s thankful that Audre doesn’t push or try to make him feel guilty, but he realizes she knows him well enough to know that his trepidations are valid, so she lets it go.</p>
<p>“What did you guys do?” Ian asks.</p>
<p>“We cooked. Had a few people over.” Rita-Mae takes a swig of her beer, avoiding eye contact.</p>
<p>“A few people? What, like your lesbian book club?” Both boys and Audre titter at Mickey’s remark, but Rita-Mae looks uncharacteristically uncomfortable.</p>
<p>“You’re an asshole,” Audre breathes out, laughing still.</p>
<p>“No,” Rita-Mae says soberly. “One of Audre’s old friends.”</p>
<p>“The one that teaches that I know from California,” Audre offers.</p>
<p>“And… my daughter…” Rita-Mae takes another big swig of beer and leans over the bar. “Bob, can I get a shot of whiskey? Well is fine.”</p>
<p>“What, what the fuck?” “Your what?” Mickey and Ian say simultaneously, respectively.</p>
<p>All eyes are on Rita-Mae, two sets of them shocked and huge and one set gentle and caring. Bob sits down Rita-Mae’s shot and automatically fills Ian’s pop, looks at everyone’s beers, deciding that no one needs a refill yet and waddles away.</p>
<p>“Thanks, Bob,” Rita-Mae says and she throws the shot back as everyone waits for her response.</p>
<p>She clears her throat and looks down blinking for a few exhales then turns her head to look at them. “I have a daughter. I had her when I was 15. I was in juvie. She got taken away. Put in foster care and then adopted.” Rita-Mae glances over to Audre, who gives her an encouraging smile and a look that clearly says, “I’m proud of you.” Rita-Mae takes a deep breath and keeps going. “I didn’t know where she was until Audre helped me find her a few years ago.” </p>
<p><em> A few years ago? </em> Mickey always forgets that Rita-Mae and Audre have known each other for years. That they didn’t just come into each other's lives when Mickey appeared. But it still sounds weird and it makes him wonder how long the two had been pining over each other. </p>
<p>Mickey refocuses on Rita-Mae, but he’s feeling less confused and shocked and more just amazed at a new twist to this person that he realizes he really doesn’t know that much about. </p>
<p>“She’s 20. In college,” she continues. “We’ve been getting to know each other. She’s good.” Rita-Mae stops and sits back a little and looks at Ian and Mickey. “Actually, she’s amazing. We’re becoming friends.”</p>
<p>“Wow!” Ian exclaims and it would almost sound too enthusiastic, but it’s Ian. “That’s really, great Rita-Mae.” </p>
<p>“Her family is great too,” Audre finally chimes in.</p>
<p>“Yeah. She was lucky.” Rita-Mae nods. “Could have ended up in foster care until she aged out or adopted by some shit bags, but that’s not what happened. I’m really grateful she didn't get stuck in the system.”</p>
<p>They are all silent for a moment, reflecting on what that statement means to each of them individually—all a little different, but with the understanding of the reality that a child in the system brings. Mickey knows all of them, even Audre, had been removed from their homes at one point. All of them had their own experiences, unique in a way, but also not at all. The conversation has a quiet pause as they all stare in different directions only interrupted by the slapping sound on the bar that makes all of them jump except Rita-Mae.</p>
<p>“Another round?” The bartender asks, wiping the bar down.</p>
<p>“Yeah, thanks, Bob,” Mickey answers for all of them then turns to Rita-Mae. “I’m really glad you found her.” He says it without thinking about it, but he realizes he means it. He is happy for her, and thinks about what it must be like for her daughter. Mickey wonders if she always knew that she was adopted or if she found out later. What her parents were like. Did they look different? What did she look like? And he thinks about how hard that must have been for Rita-Mae. </p>
<p>He has an overwhelming urge to hug her, but he doesn’t dare. That type of affection was nowhere near their present relationship and he doesn't think for a second he would get away with it or that he would even be comfortable with it after. At the same time, he feels some type of affection for her that is new, but he does what he thinks she’d appreciate more and smiles and nods at her, acknowledging her and what she has been through that he knows of and all that he doesn’t. Rita-Mae simply grins and nods her head and it feels like she's thanking him.</p>
<p>"So, Milkovich—" Rita-Mae starts and her tone implies that she is changing the subject.</p>
<p>Audre grabs her by the waist and pulls Rita-Mae a little closer. "You're not at work, baby. I thought you were gonna call him by his first name when you weren't at work."</p>
<p>"It's about work." Rita-Mae says gently, leaning into Audre, who gives her a look, that's pouty, but also kind of stern, and he sees Rita-Mae melt. It is simultaneously cute and gross, but he can't look away.</p>
<p>“I thought we weren’t gonna talk about work,” Audre says.</p>
<p>“When do we ever not talk about work?” Mickey asks incredulously, gesturing with his hands. “Half the time you bring it up.”</p>
<p>Rita-Mae stifles a laugh and Audre lets a long breath out through her nose.</p>
<p>"It's about vacation," she tells Audre.</p>
<p>Audre's expression softens and she gives her a flirty smile with her eyes closed. "Okay, fine, but you can call him Mickey."</p>
<p>Rita-Mae lets out a deep sigh, but it doesn’t actually seem like she’s exasperated, it appears to be more for show. "Mickey, I'm gonna need you to cover some of my job duties for like a week and a half next month."</p>
<p>"For what?" Mickey cocks his eyebrow.</p>
<p>"We're going on… Vacation." Rita-Mae says it then looks around as if to see if anyone else has heard her. Mickey chuckles because it’s obvious how difficult it was for her to get the words out of her mouth.</p>
<p>"See, was that so hard?" Audre squeezes her, puts her chin on Rita-Mae’s shoulder and then kisses her cheek, softly and slowly.</p>
<p>
  <em> Jesus Christ.  </em>
</p>
<p>"It was, " she says, and Mickey smiles at her apologetically because he sees she means it.</p>
<p>"Vacation?" Ian smiles. "Cool, where?"</p>
<p>"Wait, wait.” Mickey snaps forward like he’s just realizing something. “You two going on vacation together?”</p>
<p>"Yep. Her first vacation." Audre leans forward a little and whispers, "Ever."</p>
<p>Rita-Mae looks at the ceiling and puffs out air, releasing some tension. “Rich people go on vacations.”</p>
<p>“Sometimes hard working people get to go on vacations too. And you work harder than anyone I know and haven’t had more than two days off in a row since you were what… twenty?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, alright,” she huffs, crossing her arms.</p>
<p>“And it’s not like you won’t be working, you’re gonna hafta drive and deal with my annoying ass.” Audre bumps Rita-Mae with her shoulder, who bumps her back, her lips curving up, seemingly against her will.</p>
<p>"What are you guys gonna do for <em> ten </em>days?" Mickey sounds perplexed and maybe a little surprised.</p>
<p>"We're takin' the Charger on a road trip to California," Audre tells them while she twists her dark brown hair into a messy bun on top of her head.</p>
<p>“Oh, wow, that's cool.” Ian smiles from ear to ear, excited for them.</p>
<p>“Alright, I'm a little jealous. You're taking that car on the road. And the weather is gonna be a helluva lot nicer in Cali, that's for sure," Mickey says.</p>
<p>"Amen," Rita-Mae says and Mickey thinks, <em> Well at least she can be happy about that. </em></p>
<p>"Are you going to see your family?" Ian asks, draining his Coca-Cola.</p>
<p>"We are." Audre nods.</p>
<p>"She thought her mom should meet her big black dyke ex-con girlfriend." Rita-Mae makes herself laugh and Mickey almost chokes on his beer.</p>
<p>"And she's gonna love you," Audre coos at Rita-Mae and then pinches her sides as a punishment or affection or something Mickey doesn’t want to think about.</p>
<p>"Stop!" Rita-Mae laughs then looks over at the boys and immediately looks shy. </p>
<p>
  <em> God, I'm never gonna get used to that. </em>
</p>
<p>"My brother is getting out of prison," Audre announces.</p>
<p>“Congratulations, Audre,” Ian says, “that’s great.” </p>
<p>“How long's he been in?” Mickey asks.</p>
<p>“Eight years.” Audre nods, looking serious, but not sad.</p>
<p>“He's gonna love that Charger.” Mickey nods and has a dreamy look on his face.</p>
<p>“That's why I'm giving it to him.”</p>
<p>“What!” Mickey gets really shrill, a vein of jealousy ripping through him. He tries really hard to keep it together, but finds it extremely difficult. “What if he just like sells it or—"</p>
<p>"Mickey.” Audre puts a hand lightly on his shoulder. “He's my brother. And he might very well get it impounded, lose it in a drag race, or sell it for drugs. I don't know, but he has nothing and has been locked up for almost a decade. I want him to get out and have something besides his busted up childhood bedroom and a few dusty boxes of shit my mom pulled down from the rafters."</p>
<p>Mickey is quiet, realizing he was out of line and feeling shitty about it. “Yeah, sorry,” he says quietly.</p>
<p>Audre shrugs, letting it go because she gets it. She gets Mickey. </p>
<p>"It’s okay. And honestly, I'm hoping he'll see what an incredible job you did and be inspired. I think one of my old buddies might try him out at his shop, and maybe the care and work you put in to the Charger will spur him on to want to dedicate himself to something I know he loves."</p>
<p>“Really?” Mickey looks up at her.</p>
<p>“Why would I say that if I didn’t mean it?” She tilts her head to the side.</p>
<p>“So she's dragging me to California for Christmas—"</p>
<p>"Hey, you don't have to come." Audre interrupts with a smirk.</p>
<p>"Like <em> Hell </em> I'm letting you out of my sights that long." Rita-Mae looks serious, but Audre just looks...in love? And she captures Rita-Mae's lips in hers for a gentle kiss that blows Mickey away, not because of all his weird feelings about the two of them together, but because of how soft and delicate it makes them both look. How precious this little moment is for them in a dingy dive bar in Chicago, sitting next to their friends and co-workers, uninhibited and soft. They look like love itself and Mickey feels emotional. Indescribably emotional. Like <em> what the fuck is this? </em>emotional. </p>
<p>He looks over at Ian, who is blushing with a smile on his face, locking eyes with Mickey. They beam at one another, acknowledging the feelings that have been evoked, they both see it and feel it and it's making Mickey grateful once again that he and Ian were reunited and also grateful Audre and Rita-Mae could finally be together.</p>
<p>The trance-like moment is broken with a clearing of Rita-Mae's throat. "So, Mickey, can you cover some duties around the shop, or not?” Rita-Mae aks.</p>
<p>“Yeah, of course,” Mickey says sincerely, finding himself actually looking forward to taking on more responsibility, and feeling really good that she asked him.</p>
<p>The four of them sit around, drinking and laughing for a while, telling stupid stories that sometimes embarrass Mickey and sometimes embarrass Rita-Mae, and at least once embarrassed both of them at the same time, but never seem to embarrass Audre or Ian. They talk about the route out to California and what that will look like especially if it snows, and they discuss the merits of a four cylinder engine. They talk about Mickey’s dream that he’s cooked up with Ian’s wild imagination where one day he’ll own his own full restoration business, and he talks about how he still thinks he wants a cat, which Rita-Mae makes the softest face at and Mickey truly loves it. </p>
<p>Somehow the topic of conversation steers back toward Thanksgiving food again and a diatribe about what is perfect stuffing, which then rolls back around to their earlier topic of conversation.</p>
<p>“So, kid, it’s you and me next week.” Audre looks over at Ian and lifts her chin up. “I’ll pick you up at five-thirty from the shop.”</p>
<p>“It’s gonna be dark,” Mickey says.</p>
<p>“So?” Audre furrows her brow.</p>
<p>“Is it gonna be safe?” Mickey asks.</p>
<p>“We’re gonna be out there with a group of folks, and they know us. They’re used to us.” Audre tries to reassure him. “Mickey, Ian will be safe. I’ll make sure of it.”</p>
<p>Mickey tries to shuff it off, but it isn’t convincing, he was in fact worried.</p>
<p>“Hey, I can take care of myself.” Ian sounds confused and defensive, but not really tough.</p>
<p>“I’m sure you can, but Mickey’s right, you should stick close with me until you get a lay of the land.” Audre smiles at him brightly. “You’ll be fine. I have a sneaking suspicion you might like it.”</p>
<p>“Ian likes to help people.” Mickey almost says it like it’s an insult. “I mean, he was an EMT, you know?”</p>
<p>“Oh, that’s right.” Rita-Mae acknowledges the pieces of information they had been made aware of months before. “So, what do you wanna do, Ian?” she asks.</p>
<p>“Yeah, we’ve talked about what Mickey wants to do, but what about you?” Audre asks. Both women are sincere and they are looking at him, giving Ian their full attention, and something about it makes Mickey feel very warm towards both of them.</p>
<p>Ian shrugs. “I like working at the shop. Like working on the cars.” Ian has a sad smile on his face, but then looks at Mickey and his smile meets his eyes. “Like working with Mickey.” Ian nudges him and Mickey pushes back.</p>
<p>“Shut up.” Mickey looks down, smiling and feeling his cheeks redden.</p>
<p>“And I think I'm pretty good at what I’m doing.”</p>
<p>“You are.” Rita-Mae nods. “You have a steady hand and good precision.”</p>
<p>“Thanks,” Ian responds shyly.</p>
<p>“But you're not meant to be a grease monkey,” Audre says matter of factly. “Whaddya wanna <em> do </em>, kid? </p>
<p>“I don't know. I was the happiest at my job when I was an EMT. When I was helping people. But that got all fucked up. I'll never be able to do that again.”</p>
<p>“First of all, that’s not necessarily true,” Audre tells him. “There is nothing in the law that states that a felon cannot be an EMT. Rules are dictated by the Sheriff’s department in every county, and even then, exceptions can be made. But, that doesn’t mean that should be what you do. If you couldn't, what else would you do?”</p>
<p>“I don't know.” Ian gets a far away look and it makes Mickey reach down and lace his fingers with Ian’s. “It would be great to help other people with mental illness. Especially people from fucked up backgrounds. But how would I do that now?” He looks really sad and it’s tearing Mickey’s heart out.</p>
<p>“You could. Again, the rules aren’t what you think they are,” Audre says. “You can go to school, start off as a peer counselor. Usually doesn't pay a lot, but it's a start and you can always start taking classes to work towards a degree.” </p>
<p>“That would be amazing,” Ian says, his wistful look transforming to hopeful. “You really think I could?”</p>
<p>“Fuck yeah,” Audre tells him.</p>
<p>“Hold on,” Mickey interjects “Are you trying to convert him to be a social worker?” </p>
<p>“You act like I’m trying to convert him into a cult.”</p>
<p>“I mean…” Mickey lifts his shoulders, but Audre backhands him and he starts to laugh. </p>
<p>“I think that would be incredible.” Ian looks like he has a tear in his eye and a broad smile stretches across his face. </p>
<p>“I could sit down with you and make a plan. Make a few phone calls to at least get you volunteering with the right organizations that could eventually pay you. But I’m not gonna hold your hand the whole way. I’ll give you guidance, but you gotta put in the work.”</p>
<p>“I can do that. I can work. I’ve always worked,” Ian says earnestly and Mickey realizes that’s true. Ian was the only kid in his household to have a regular steady job and he had only been fourteen at the time. Even their oldest sister, who cared for them, did gig work and picked up extra shifts in different places. She’d rarely kept a steady job until Ian was already out of the house. No matter what it was, Ian had always worked to survive. Maybe it wasn’t always stuff that Mickey wanted him to be doing, but it was what Ian needed to do to live another day, and Mickey admired that.</p>
<p>Now they had each other, and neither of them would ever have to do again what they had to do to survive. The world was wide open to them and they were moving ahead together. </p>
<p>Ian wasn’t a mechanic. He did a decent job and was great with customers, but it wasn’t what he wanted for himself. Mickey knew Ian wanted to help people and help others heal, and the idea that Ian could be given the opportunity to do that filled his heart with joy and appreciation. </p>
<p>They could actually have hopes and dreams, and those things could be fulfilled with the gifts that are being given to them. He knew they were fortunate, and that not everyone got the opportunities afforded to them, but he felt especially lucky that he and Ian had one another and, as Maria would say, were on this journey together. Survival looked a lot different now than it did ten years ago, or even a year ago, and that felt like victory.</p>
<h2>Christmas</h2>
<p>“You two are finally here!” Tre pulls Mickey and Ian both into the Williams’ house. “My grandma is driving me fucking crazy. I need some back up,” he says between gritted teeth.</p>
<p>Ian and Mickey both allow themselves to be dragged forward with wide eyes. It’s their first Christmas together and the two men had been running around for the last few days trying to meet obligations neither of them realized they had until the week before—obligations that would have never been present previously for two love-starved and neglected boys, but now, not only do they have each other, but they have each other's families and the family at the shop—even Enzo and Damon—Audre and Rita-Mae, and Mickey’s new family, the Williams, who is now Ian’s new family too.</p>
<p>They both know now—after a few tear-filled conversations about what family used to mean to both of them and what it can and could mean now—that they have a huge family surrounding them that they can depend on, and that they can depend on each other. They hadn’t quite gotten as in depth as maybe Maria had intended for Mickey to get with his conversation about them having their own family one day, but it was a start, and Mickey was happy and relieved that Ian knew that he had more than just the Gallaghers supporting him. The last two days had really put that to the test.</p>
<p>They had gone over to Mickey’s brother’s the day before Christmas. They had lunch and exchanged presents with Jamie, his new wife, Julia, and their baby, Amanda, who was getting to be ridiculously cute and looked a lot like Mickey. Ian had gotten stupid gaga about her and spent a lot of the time holding her and talking to Julia. Mickey bristled a little each time they said the baby’s name because he knew they had purposely named her after their sister Mandy, but at the same time he felt it was a beautiful gesture and knew he would adjust to it. And one day, when they find Mandy, he knows she’ll be honored.</p>
<p>It had been a little awkward only because they hadn’t hung out with them much, and he still wasn’t used to Jamie seeing Mickey in a relationship with another man, but Jamie genuinely didn’t seem to give two fucks about it and got along well with Ian. The two of them talked a lot about school because Ian was starting back in January, and Jamie was thinking about getting his diploma. They were able to talk about how they were excited, but also how they were afraid. It made Mickey truly happy to see that interaction and he felt proud that Ian was his partner.</p>
<p><em> Partner </em>.</p>
<p>The big event of that visit was a planned call with Iggy, who was now at Statesville. They put him on speaker and he got to hear the baby babbling. He thanked them for the presents he had gotten in his commissary and the money they had all deposited. Jamie had only been able to get out there once, so he dominated Iggy’s time, but Mickey was okay with that because he and Ian had managed to visit at least once a month and were planning to go there for the new year. </p>
<p>It was the first Milkovich Christmas Mickey could remember where someone wasn’t drunk, crying, beaten up, or all three. Shit, they hadn’t even had a Christmas for years before he had beaten the shit out of their dad and he got locked up. When Mickey thinks about it, he realizes that after Mandy ran away, they never had Christmas again. Not that their Christmases were much to speak of before, but it's still sad to think about. </p>
<p>Mickey believes that she will be back in their lives one day, and Iggy will be out of prison, and when all those stars align they’ll all have a real Christmas together. Mickey thinks, <em> What strange fuckin’ feelings hope and faith are </em>, but they don’t feel bad at all.</p>
<p>After they were done at Jamie and Julia’s house, they had a short window where they went home and got ready for their Christmas Eve plans. Getting ready really meant fucking and then showering and getting dressed again, but it felt like a good interlude to both of them. </p>
<p>Mickey and Ian had agreed to spend Christmas Eve with the Gallaghers, and as much as he complained about it, he had actually been excited because not only would the food be good, but every time they hung out with Ian’s family he got more insight into Ian, and he found that invaluable. </p>
<p>Also, the chaos there was funny as shit, and he found he could get them all going really easily and still somehow look innocent in the fray. Tami had caught on to him though and they had an unspoken game of who could get the Gallaghers riled up the most and not get caught. It was great entertainment, and they were secretly becoming friends, which he hoped Lip would realize and hate. Mickey had to admit, besides it being funny as shit, there was great warmth in the chaos and that was nice.</p>
<p>Ian and Mickey had exchanged presents at every destination. Little things like a new drawing pad for Mickey and notebooks for school for Ian. They had opened gifts with each other Christmas morning, but kept it modest, both of them agreeing that they should save their money and use it for maybe a vacation, as weird as that sounded, or an investment in another car they could fix up and sell. Plus, Ian had to start school soon and that was going to cost some money because financial aid was hard to come by for a felon. </p>
<p>There was a set of inexpensive headphones and charcoal pencils for Mickey and a new backpack for Ian. Mickey also got Ian a cock ring, which earned him a squinty look from Ian, but then a hug-tackle that quickly turned into a product demonstration and test run.</p>
<p>All of the Christmas morning shenanigans, however, had made them at least an hour late to the Williams’ family gathering, and they knew before they got to the door they were going to be in trouble.</p>
<p>“What the fuck took you guys so long?” Tre whispers loudly, which really isn’t a whisper at all. He takes a step back and looks at both of them and shakes his head. “Never mind. I already know.” Tre smirks. “You better get in the kitchen before she comes out here looking for you or me or any of us.” With that, Tre takes off the frilly apron that Mickey guesses his grandmother made him wear, shoves it at Ian, and darts up the stairs.</p>
<p>With it being the middle of Winter, there is no chance of using the backyard for overflow, so the house is filled to the brim and spilling over. It is complete pandemonium and Ian clings close to Mickey, almost like he might get lost in the crowd. There are multiple generations of rowdy Williams’ offspring running around, yelling, laughing, crying, arguing, and eating—because there is already food on the table and probably has been since seven in the morning.</p>
<p>Mickey had been at their house the Christmas before, so he had some idea of what the day would be like. One of the most impressive things about Christmas at their house was that food was being generated out of the kitchen all day long until they sat down to eat dinner. Mickey loved it, but it also made Ana act like the Spanglish speaking lovechild of Martha Stewart and Gordon Ramsey.</p>
<p>“Tio Mickey! Tio Ian!” Jenny blocks their path and jumps into Mickey’s arms. As usual, when she greets him, he is flooded with emotion and a feelings that he has never felt toward another human. He thinks it's paternal and it makes him feel soft inside. He's overcome by how excited she is to see him and how much she loves him. And unlike many months before he can fully absorb it and not feel unworthy. She loves her Tío Mickey and he loves her.</p>
<p>“Hey, Munchkin,” Mickey says, giving her a big hug. “What, no more Uncle Cinnamon?” Mickey looks over at Ian, who elbows him in the ribs lightly while Mickey chuckles.</p>
<p>“No, I don’t like that anymore,” Jenny announces.</p>
<p>“But what about that hair? I thought you loved it,” Mickey teases as Ian rolls his eyes.</p>
<p>“I do!” Jenny says and then looks at Ian. “I love it. Your hair is like Ariel hair.” She reaches for Ian and Mickey transfers her over with a smile.</p>
<p>“Maybe he should be Tio Ariel.” Mickey tries to suppress a laugh as he gets a glaring look from Ian and a scrunched up face of disgust from the now six year old in Ian’s arms.</p>
<p>“That’s silly,” Jenny tells him as Ian lets her down to the floor. She looks up at both of them and says, “By the way, Grandma Ana’s mad at you. ‘You two are late!'" She says in her best Grandma Ana voice, giggles, and then gets swept away in a passing kid tornado full of her cousins.</p>
<p>“Fuck,” Ian and Mickey say in unison then look at each other, both letting out deep sighs.</p>
<p>They are quickly able to distinguish Ana’s voice from everyone else as they get closer to the kitchen, and despite knowing full well this was coming, Mickey finds himself nervous to walk through the entrance way. Ian, who had been warned, but couldn’t possibly fully understand what he was getting himself into, is wide eyed and obviously freaked out.</p>
<p>As soon as they open the door they are hit with the sound of knives chopping, oil sizzling, water boiling and, loudest of all, Ana barking orders, providing critiques and giving instruction with a <em> whole </em>lot of cussing.</p>
<p>“What the fuck?” Ana turns around and sees the two of them standing there frozen. “Where the fuck have you two pendejos been?”</p>
<p>“Uhh, we—” Ian stutters.</p>
<p>“I—you see—” Mickey tries to get words out.</p>
<p>“I don’t care. You’re late! Put that apron on.” Ana points to the apron in Ian’s hand and then throws another to Mickey that looks like someone handmade it in the 80s, and, well, they probably did. “And you put that one on,” she tells him.</p>
<p>Ana points over to the empty counter space to her right. “Guapo, take the potatoes that are cleaned in the sink and start chopping them. I want one inch squares. Then go into the fridge and put a dozen eggs on to boil!” </p>
<p>“Yes, ma’am.” Ian springs into action without another word.</p>
<p>Ana then looks at Mickey and points to the counter to her left. “Mijo, I need you to chop those cans of olives—small, but not minced—clean and then cut six stalks of celery down the middle and then slice ‘em thin. Don't forget to cut off the chingadera on the ends, and then you are going to scrub those yams until the water runs clear off of them.”</p>
<p>“Peel them?” Mickey says with a furrowed brow.</p>
<p>“No, scrub them. Peels stay on. That’s where the pinché vitamins are. Escúchame!” With that, Ana turns on her heel and goes back to whatever mixing, peeling, stirring, and preparing she was doing.</p>
<p>The boys stay in the kitchen, following orders and working vigorously for at least an hour and a half. Mickey enjoys the work and he looks over and sees Ian working hard, asking for instruction, and smiling with pride when he receives praise from Ana, causing him to believe that Ian is enjoying the work as well. Mickey stops for a moment to admire him—his lips as they curl up into a smile, his hands as they move precisely and with purpose, his body as it moves in rhythm with the task at hand. </p>
<p>Or maybe he’s moving to the music in the background. Ana always has oldies playing while she works, usually 1950s pop and R&amp;B. She must also notice Ian moving in time because she stops what she’s doing, wipes her hands, and grabs his wrist, swinging him towards her. </p>
<p>“Come on, Guapo, make an old lady happy and dance with me.” Ana starts swinging her hips and shuffling her feet. Mickey thinks it's cute, but also that she must have been a really great dancer when she was younger, and wonders if she and Willie used to go dancing together.</p>
<p>Ian beams brightly, breaks free long enough to wipe his hands, and then he grabs Ana around the waist and envelopes her tiny hand in his. Mickey looks on in amazement as Ian starts leading Ana in a cha-cha or samba or who knows what it is, but Ian is swinging her around and they are both laughing as they dance around the kitchen.</p>
<p>Their performance starts quite a titter, some people laughing and smiling and some looking confused—the later being mostly the younger people in the room.</p>
<p>"Grandma what are you doing?" One of the teen grandsons asks, laughing and continuing to stir whatever is on the stove.</p>
<p>"What? You know I love to dance," Ana says unlabored, seemingly unfazed by the vigorous pace they are moving at.</p>
<p>"That's Mickey's boyfriend, grandma," one of the adult granddaughters teases.</p>
<p>Ian swings her under the arch of his arm easily and then back again. It's all very graceful and it makes Mickey kind of tingly.</p>
<p>"So?" Ana challenges. "This isn't my first time dancing with a gay guy."</p>
<p>"Mom." "Grandma." "Mama." A collective groan goes out across the kitchen at what might have been a joke, but was also reality.</p>
<p>Mickey knows that those members of the family not already privy to Willie's sexuality had been made aware. And Ana and Willie had been very open with everyone as their plans for their marriage and living situation evolved, which Mickey still isn’t clear on and thought hadn't actually evolved at all other than Willie's semi-retirement that made him home more, which Mickey thought was ironic somehow.</p>
<p>It seemed everyone was mostly handling it really well, and it had actually allowed other family secrets to be revealed, as several of the members of the clan confessed to hiding their sexuality as well. It even brought their daughter, Connie, who Mickey now knows is gay, back to them after many years of being separated form them, not being able to deal with the lies and secrets around her. Ana and Willie blamed themselves for people hiding so much and creating division because they had treated all of it as something shameful and had let that affect their children and their children's children. They were trying to fix it. Mickey knew it would take some time, but it seemed to be getting better and better.</p>
<p>Still, the bad jokes garnered jeers and there were still some adjustments that had to be made with the family. They were all still getting used to it and figuring out ways to understand their new reality, as well as figuring out how to explain sex and sexuality to all the younger children.</p>
<p>"What the Hell is happening in here?" Willie's voice booms from the doorway, and he looks upon the scene with a glowing crooked smile. Several family members greet him as he hands Ana a bag of groceries he had been tasked with getting from the store, and he greets them back collectively.</p>
<p>"Did you get everything?" Ana asks and busies herself inspecting the contents of the bag.</p>
<p>"You mean everything you forgot to get the first time around?" Willie chuckles, teasing her.</p>
<p>"Callate la boca, pinché cabrón," Ana says, but her eyes don't match her harsh words, a slight smirk forming on her lips.</p>
<p>"Mama, please!" their daughter, Amalia, exclaims, no doubt referring to her use of vulgarities in Spanish.</p>
<p>"What?" she says with angry wrinkles on her forehead.</p>
<p>"Your filthy mouth, that's what," Willie taunts.</p>
<p>Mickey tries to suppress a laugh, and doesn't dare join in because he would prefer to stay alive, but he can’t help but love the ribbing the family is constantly giving each other. It was something that had taken him months to get used to, always expecting that the teasing, bickering, and loud arguing would turn into a fist fight, but it never did, and eventually Mickey not only got used to it, but he grew to enjoy it. Ian seemed to adjust to it better, but his family’s arguments usually didn’t result in fist fights either—well, most of the time anyway.</p>
<p>"Whatever," Ana waves and dismisses all of it, moving on to her task.</p>
<p>"Ana, I'm gonna borrow Ian and Mickey; they’ve been in here almost two hours," Willie announces and both boys look at Ana with huge eyes waiting to see how this goes.</p>
<p>"What?!" Ana starts to protest, but then her facial expression softens. "Have you eaten?” She points a carton of butter at Ian and then Mickey.</p>
<p>“Uh, not...really,” Mickey says, scratching the back of his neck. </p>
<p>“Not really?” Ana looks over to Ian. “What the fuck does that mean?” </p>
<p>“We had coffee…” Ian looks up at Mickey for help that he isn’t getting. “And...pop tarts?”</p>
<p>“Jesus Christ.” Ana looks at both of them. “You didn’t have time for breakfast, but I bet you had time to fuck each other.”</p>
<p>“Oh, my God!” their grandson yells, while Willie laughs and Ian and Mickey look on, stunned into silence, and more than a little embarrassed.</p>
<p>“Mama!” Amalia yells again.</p>
<p>Ana ignores all of them. It’s her fucking kitchen afterall. “Fine, you two dumbasses go eat.” She waves towards the door. “But tell Tony to grab one of his kids or sisters or somebody and get in here. It's their shift." Ana turns to Ian and pulls him into a quick hug and pat on the shoulder. "Thank you for the dance, mijo. Mickey is a lucky man."</p>
<p>Ana turns to look at Mickey who feels all eyes on him. Without hesitation he says, "I am," and he means it. Completely.</p>
<p>"Oh, my God, you too are so flippin' cute," Amalia tells them, elbows deep in dishwater. It makes both Mickey and Ian blush, and Ian looks over at him with a playful smile.</p>
<p>"Ugh, your fake cussing is giving me a headache. Just say 'fuck'. You used to tell me to fuck off when you were a teenager all the time, so I know you know how." Ana starts back to work, and without turning around says, "Go on, get out of my kitchen if you aren't going to work and send over your replacements."</p>
<p>Having been dismissed, all three men leave the kitchen quickly before she changes her mind. They do as they are told and then settle in to eat at the table with a never ending rotation of food. </p>
<p>"I—" Ian starts to talk, obviously stunned by the scene in front of him. Mickey watches him with some amusement as he looks at all the food and watches people graze, some sitting with others and talking, others grabbing food and heading off to some other parts of the house to socialize, watch football, bicker playfully with a family member over a long standing disagreement, or maybe even hide. Ian’s eyes only grow wider and he makes his "oh, wow" face—as Mickey likes to call it—as Willie's grandson brings out a platter of fresh baked empanadas, steam rising slowly off of the pastry dough and the smell working its way into their noses.</p>
<p>"I didn't expect all this," Ian finally says. "I mean…" He doesn't actually finish his sentence, but he doesn't need to. He had been there for family dinners, a few birthdays, and a confirmation. Definitely a rise in action, but nothing compared to Christmas in sheer volume of humans and level of intensity of the celebration.</p>
<p>"Yeeeeah." Willie leans forward to grab an empanada and put it on his plate. "Christmas makes Ana fuckin' crazy. She'll calm down when everyone sits down to eat dinner."</p>
<p>"When's that?" Ian asks.</p>
<p>"No clue, but it'll happen. I'm just gonna keep eating. Try an empanada; they're delicious."</p>
<p>The three men eat and talk about how things are going at the shop for a while, discussing the volume of customers and what work has been coming through lately. They also discuss the Shaggin’ Wagon and Mickey talks almost teary-eyed about her departure and the buyer that he vetted and scrutinized an embarrassing amount. Mickey tells Willie about their plans to take the money and probably invest in their next project since they had actually made a good profit. Willie seems proud of this and compliments them on their good work, and hopefully investing towards their future. Right when Mickey is about to ask what he means they are interrupted by yet another member of the Williams clan.</p>
<p>“Hi Grandpa!” A raven haired girl, who looks about thirteen, but is probably older swoops in and gives Willie a hug from behind and kisses his cheek. Mickey has only seen her a few times at big family events and actually had no idea who she is, but assumes she’s a granddaughter.</p>
<p>“Hey, Buttercup!” Willie greets his granddaughter, grabbing onto the arms around his neck. “Sit with us. I haven’t seen you in months.” The girl obliges and wastes no time grabbing whatever food is in front of her and starting to eat, stopping only to smile and lean into her grandpa affectionately.</p>
<p>“Christina, have you met Mickey?” Willie points over at him. “I feel like you should’ve.”</p>
<p>“Nope,” she mumbles around the food in her mouth shaking her head.</p>
<p>“We’ve seen each other, but never been introduced,” Mickey offers and Christina nods in agreement. </p>
<p>“Well, shit,” Willie says. “This is my granddaughter, Christina.” He turns and looks at her and says, “Mickey here works at the shop—lives there. Your grandma and I adopted him.”</p>
<p>Mickey almost chokes when he says this and he feels like Willie is joking, but it doesn’t sound like he is.</p>
<p>“Like you need more kids.” Christina laughs and looks over at Mickey. “It’s good to meet you, Mickey.” She reaches her hand over and shakes Mickey’s with a smile, then looks at Ian and does the same with him. ”Christina,” she says. </p>
<p>“I’m Ian.” Ian shakes her hand back, giving his winning Gallagher grin.</p>
<p>“You work at the shop too?” she asks.</p>
<p>“Yeah, and…” Ian trails off and looks a little perplexed.</p>
<p>“We’re partners,” Mickey offers, thinking that must be what Ian was trying to figure out how to say.</p>
<p>“Like in business?” Christina asks, shoving a deviled egg in her mouth, and after a few chews she asks, “Or like lovers?” </p>
<p>“Who the hell says lovers?” Willie looks at her. “What have you been watching?” Christina just shrugs and gets up to pour some pop.</p>
<p>“Yeah, like that,” Mickey says with a little blush on his face. </p>
<p>“Cool. You guys are a cute couple,” she says nonchalantly, and Ian and Mickey exchange looks that push up against the border of suggestiveness, but are mostly shy. They quickly look away, not wanting anyone else to see their exchange or for it to actually become heated. They <em> are </em>a cute couple. It’s hard to deny, but it’s always a little awkward when someone else says it. Nonetheless, this new person on the scene is correct and they know it.</p>
<p>“Your mom here?” Willie asks.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Christina nods. “She’s in the kitchen with grandma.” </p>
<p>“Did you get out to see my son?” Willie asks.</p>
<p>“We went out yesterday,” she tells him. “He looks better. Glad they transferred him to minimum.”</p>
<p>Mickey looks over at Willie, trying to gauge by the look on his face where his son might be as he has a sneaking suspicion that he knows, but has never been told directly where their youngest son was.</p>
<p>“Christina’s my youngest son’s daughter,” Willie tells Mickey. “Peter.”</p>
<p>“He’s in prison,” Christina says in an even tone, seemingly unashamed and unmoved.</p>
<p>“Oh,” Ian says, “I’m sorry to hear that.”</p>
<p>“He’s been in since I was eleven,” Christina tells them. “So, I’ve had ten years to get used to it.”</p>
<p>Mickey hears her words and sees her expression remain stoic, but he has a hard time believing what she’s saying. He looks over to Willie and it looks like he’s not buying it either.</p>
<p>“Well, I’m glad he’s doing better.” Willie smiles up at Christina and places his hand over hers. “Maybe he’ll get an early release,” he tells her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Maybe.” She smiles weakly. “That would be nice.” And that Mickey believes she means.</p>
<p>“Buttercup, Ian here is starting community college next semester.” Willie is obviously trying to change the subject and it seems to be welcome as Christina’s expression brightens.</p>
<p>“Cool, what are you gonna be doing?” she asks.</p>
<p>“I’m starting with general ed, but I’ll probably do the human sciences program and hopefully transfer to a four year at some point. It’s gonna take me a while though,” Ian tells her sheepishly, and Mickey can’t help but think about how cute he looks, and he really wants to tell him and maybe kiss his face.</p>
<p>“That’s awesome! It's taking me some time too, but grandpa"—she gives Willie a little bump with her shoulder—"always tells me it's not a race and not to get discouraged.” Christina smiles and her excitement is genuine, which is surprising because she doesn’t know Ian that well. “Do you want to be a social worker?” She asks.</p>
<p>“Maybe,” Ian says. “I definitely want to work in mental health—with people who are mentally ill, maybe people that have been incarcerated…” Ian trails off a little, seeming to get shy. Maybe because of the information that Christina’s father is in prison. “People like me,” Ian offers, and Mickey is sure it is designed to make her feel more comfortable, but it’s also the truth.</p>
<p>“And me,” Mickey says, smiling over at his boyfriend, partner, lover.</p>
<p>Christina smiles at both of them brightly. “That’s really amazing,” she says. “I just finished most of my gen ed. I’m starting higher division classes. Doing something similar—social justice.”</p>
<p>“Buttercup here is gonna fight the man,” Willie says proudly. It sounds teasing, but Mickey doesn’t think it is and Christina leans into him again and smiles. </p>
<p>“What classes are you taking?” Christina asks Ian, and Mickey can see she is honestly interested and that makes him feel warm inside. He can also see that the conversation is easing a little of Ian’s anxiety and that makes Mickey feel good.</p>
<p>“Well…” Ian shifts down so he is right across from Christina and they start excitedly talking about Ian’s upcoming semester and what classes he’s taking. She has some inside information on a few of the teachers and they quickly forget that either Willie or Mickey are there. Mickey thinks it’s endearing how excited Ian is about starting community college, and he feels an overwhelming sense of pride as he watches him talk to Willie’s granddaughter about it. He’s really happy that Ian seems actually excited about his future and the possibilities that lie ahead and it makes him excited too for what might lie ahead for both of them together.</p>
<p>Willie turns to Mickey and gives him a knowing grin, which Mickey returns sheepishly before he looks down at his plate of half-eaten food.</p>
<p>“How’s things been going at the shop?”</p>
<p>“Good.” Mickey is a little perplexed because he feels they just had this conversation.</p>
<p>“No, I mean with you handling duties for Rita-Mae while she’s gone?” Willie asks.</p>
<p>“Oh.” Mickey sits back in realization. “Good. Things are good. Jobs are taking a little longer, but Ian and I have been putting in a little extra time to get stuff done, and the new girl has been busting ass. It helps that she already knows what she’s doing.”</p>
<p>“You gettin’ along better with Enzo?” Willie looks at him with mirth in his eyes.</p>
<p>“Yeah.” Mickey nods with a grimace. “We’re getting along better. And he seems to like Ian a lot so that helps.”</p>
<p>Willie lets out a boisterous laugh and pats Mickey on the back.</p>
<p>“Sounds like Ian is getting his future mapped out.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, Audre's helped him a lot. Set up a whole plan for him. He’s really excited.”</p>
<p>“And you?” </p>
<p>Mickey starts to ask what about him, but he knows that would be ridiculous because Willie knows him better than that and knows that Mickey has dreams and aspirations beyond the shop.</p>
<p>"I don't know." Mickey shrugs, stalling a little while he's thinking. "I have an idea of something I want to do, but I'm not anywhere near being able to do it."</p>
<p>"So, what is it? Willie crosses his arms waiting for Mickey to talk to him. </p>
<p>"I want my own shop," Mickey says sheepishly. When Willie doesn't say anything, Mickey feels encouraged to keep talking. "Not just an auto shop. I wanna specialize in classic cars—‘50s, ‘60s, ‘70s. And have an auto body guy that works there."</p>
<p>"Full restoration," Willie says with an appreciative grin.</p>
<p>"Yeah, full restoration." Mickey nods.</p>
<p>"That would be amazing, kid." Willie pats Mickey firmly in the back.</p>
<p>"Yeah?"</p>
<p>"If you did everything in house, and really focused on specialization, you could really make bank." Willie tells him and it fills Mickey with a pleasant glow. "But I bet that it's more important to you that you enjoy the work you're doing. And you'll love that."</p>
<p>"Yeah, I really will."</p>
<p>"So is that what you're working towards? You thinkin' that you can keep turning out projects and maybe start saving that way?"</p>
<p>"Well, or maybe also…" Mickey trails off and looks over at Ian, smiling and feeling his face heat up.</p>
<p>"You saving to get you and Ian a place?" he offers and it makes Mickey blush.</p>
<p>"I hope so. If he wants to."</p>
<p>"Why wouldn't he?" Willie furrows his brow. "The kid is head over heels for you, Mick. I'm pretty sure at this point you would both follow each other anywhere."</p>
<p>"Maybe. He’s worried about Liam, but I think he's gonna be livin' with their oldest brother soon." Mickey shrugs again. </p>
<p>"You just need to ask him," Willie says. "He'll say yes." Willie nods, completely sure of his words and takes a gulp of whatever he's drinking.</p>
<p>Mickey looks over at Ian, admiring his profile and how he is leaning into his conversation that has possessed him so thoroughly. At that moment, Ian sits back, laughing and looks over at Mickey, locking eyes with him. Ian covers his bottom lip with his teeth and upper lip and gives Mickey a blushing smile, eyes sparkling and beautiful. Mickey feels the heat creep up his neck and he tries not to smile as he looks away, embarrassed and feeling caught.</p>
<p>Willie smacks Mickey's back and leans in with a growling whisper and says, "You're gonna be just fine. That boy right there loves you." He gets up from the table and pushes in his chair. "I gotta check on the kitchen to see if anyone needs rescuing." Before he walks away he leans down to Mickey and says, "I'm real happy for you. And I'm proud of you, son," Willie says sincerely, gives Mickey's back a few more pats, and then walks away.</p>
<p>Mickey is experiencing a mixture of emotions that range from pride to joy to sadness, and it's mixing together in a way that his body isn't sure how to react to. </p>
<p>Some part of him can't help but be sad and probably more than a little angry that those words, so meaningful and so true, didn't come from his own father. And it makes him feel sick that after all these years that he is still lamenting over not getting the approval from the monster who at one point had taken everything away from him, almost for good. </p>
<p>Why couldn't he have accepted him? Even fucking Frank was able to accept his gay son—<em> and </em> Mickey. Why couldn't he have been happy for him, been proud of him? But he never was. And he never could have been. </p>
<p>This surrogate father, who he had been down a rocky road with, could be proud of him, happy for him, and accept him. And that needed to mean more to him right now than what Terry was never capable of doing. The joy in having someone who cares about you and genuinely wants the best for you no matter what, far outweighs any bullshit resentments and residual hurt from the past. From his father. From the man who never did anything but hurt him. </p>
<p>Unlike this time last year, Mickey believes and knows, and is resolute, that the pride from receiving praise, and love, and acceptance from the family he has chosen and who chose him, far outweighs anything Terry can attack him with from the grave, so that's where he wants his feelings to dwell, not in that piece of shit. One more power he no longer holds over Mickey. </p>
<p>This family, not just Willie, but a big chunk of this family, knows who he is, they believe in him, they think he and his boyfriend are cute together, and are happy for them. Mickey knows now that this family loves him, and that he deserves their love. </p>
<p>***</p>
<p>"Ian where are you?" Mickey hollers up the stairs. </p>
<p>Dinner has been over for at least an hour and the last he saw of Ian he was holding Jenny's baby brother, Owen, who was tugging on Ian's hair while Ian talked to their mother, Mary. </p>
<p>Dinner had been amazing, but also chaotic and loud, and Mickey felt like he hadn't seen Ian for hours. Right after dinner, Ana had snagged Mickey and they had coffee and shared a smoke on the back porch in the freezing winter air. She was calm and seemed really happy, and they didn't say much, just enjoyed each other's company. Come to think of it, he hadn't seen her since either. </p>
<p>Mickey ascends the stairs and finds Ian in the room where a bunch of the adults, including Tre and his wife, with babies and small children have gathered, many of the kids already passed out and a few fighting sleep. And there is Ian. Making goo-goo and gaga noises, bouncing a baby on his knee and grabbing to hold another as soon as he hands the one back he was holding. <em> What the fuck is this? </em></p>
<p>"Tio Mickey." Jenny pulls him into the room and orders him to sit down next to her mom. He does as he's told, seeing an incredibly grumpy look on her face and deciding not to fight with a cranky six year old. She crawls up on his lap and looks at him with a tempestuous pout. "They're making me stay in here with the babies," she whispers angrily.</p>
<p>"That's because you can't behave yourself," Mary tells her.</p>
<p>"You gettin' in trouble, Squirt?" Mickey asks, putting his hand on her head gently.</p>
<p>"No." She crosses her arms defiantly. "Maybe," she says with her bottom lip stuck all the way out.</p>
<p>"She can't keep her hands off of other people's stuff," Tre says.</p>
<p>"Don't tell him!" Jenny yells.</p>
<p>"Hey, don't yell at your mom," Mickey says firmly, but gently. "That's not cool."</p>
<p>"Sorry," she says with little tears in her eyes.</p>
<p>"She's cranky," Mary says.</p>
<p>"No, I'm not!" Jenny starts to cry a little and is obviously fighting sleep as her eyes droop.</p>
<p>"Hey, it's okay," Mickey tells her. "I get cranky all the time. It usually just means I'm hungry or tired. And I saw you eat a whole pie so I know you ain't hungry." He pokes her tummy and she can't help but giggle.</p>
<p>"Did not," she says, yawning, laying her head on his chest. "Pie's good," she quietly declares as she falls asleep in Mickey's arms.</p>
<p>Mickey looks over at Ian, who is as far away as he can be from Mickey and is now bottle-feeding someone's tiny baby. Ian looks up and sees him and gives Mickey a full toothy smile. Mickey can't help the corner of his lips curling up and he feels his chest swelling with the love and affection he is feeling for Ian in that moment.</p>
<p>"You guys are so beautiful together," Willie and Ana's daughter Amanda tells him. "It's really sweet." She is sincere and almost looks like she's going to cry.</p>
<p>"Look at him with the babies,” another adult granddaughter, who he thinks is named Renee, but it might not be anything like that at all, says. He still struggles with that.</p>
<p>Mickey shakes his head, letting out a little chuckle, but then turns to look at Ian again, admiring him as he cares for the little one in his arms.</p>
<p>"You guys gonna have kids?" Tre asks.</p>
<p>"What?!" Mickey almost chokes and jostles Jenny a little who moans in protest.</p>
<p>"Look at him," Tony's oldest son—maybe Robert—says. "He looks like he wants a baby." </p>
<p>"No." Mickey shakes his head. "We haven't been back together long enough to even be thinking about that."</p>
<p>"<em>Back </em> together?" Mary asks.</p>
<p>"Yeah, uh, we were together…" Mickey stutters. "When we were kids."</p>
<p>A collective "Ah" goes out across the room and Mickey's cheeks bloom red with embarrassment. Ian looks up from his baby shushing and feeding for a split second, but doesn't care enough to engage, much more focused on the life in his arms.</p>
<p>"Oh my god you were childhood sweethearts and now you're back together." Maybe Renee clutches her heart and looks emotional.</p>
<p>"I like Ian a lot, but before you got together I was hoping you'd go out with my nephew, Felipe." Amalia tells him.</p>
<p>"What?" Mickey's eyes grow wide.</p>
<p>"She's thought you were gay since last Christmas," Amalia's teenage daughter announces rolling her eyes.</p>
<p>"I did," she says defiantly. "And I thought you'd be perfect for him. Plus, he has terrible taste in men."</p>
<p>"We wouldn't let her try to set you up," Amanda says, giving her sister side eye.</p>
<p>"Mom, you're so embarrassing."</p>
<p>"I know, mija," Amalia tells her daughter and kisses the top of her head, earning her a scowl. "You embarrass me too."</p>
<p>Mickey can't help but laugh. "That's one way to do it."</p>
<p>"Hey," Amalia says, "I'm happy you guys found each other again. I mean it."</p>
<p>"Yeah, we like him," Maybe Robert tells him.</p>
<p>"So cute too." Mary nudges him, making a few of the women giggle and one of them says, "Mmhmm."</p>
<p>Mickey turns again, admiring Ian with a full blush.</p>
<p>"Oh, look at you! My mijo's in love." Ana bounds into the room, grabbing one of his cheeks and sitting on the arm of the couch next to him.</p>
<p>"No, stop." Mickey chuckles despite being embarrassed, and some part of him loves it because it's warm and affectionate.</p>
<p>"Mama, stop," Amanda scolds.</p>
<p>"You guys will have beautiful babies," Ana tells him.</p>
<p>"I don't think that's how it works, Mama," Amanda tells her, suppressing a laugh.</p>
<p>"Shut your mouth. It'll work however it works." Ana snaps her fingers. "Look at him," she says to Mickey. "You better give that boy a baby."</p>
<p>Mickey lets out a deep sigh. "I don't know if we'll be very good parents. Neither of us had very good role models." He shakes his head and he can't quite get the sadness out of his voice. </p>
<p>"Neither did I," Ana tells him. "Neither did my kids for that matter."</p>
<p>"Mama—" Amanda and Amalia say almost in unison, attempting to protest.</p>
<p>"Hush, we've been through this, you know it's true. We were a fucking mess. We're lucky you all ended being as amazing as you are."</p>
<p>Her daughters look at her and smile, but there is sadness in their eyes, and Mickey wonders what the evolution of this topic of conversation has been and if they are thinking about their brother who is locked up.</p>
<p>Ana looks again at Mickey. "You can't stop your life because you're afraid, mijo. Right?"</p>
<p>"But I don't know how to be a dad, Ana." Mickey's voice is a little wobbly and he can feel pressure behind his eyes.</p>
<p>"Really?" Ana says and points down at Jenny sleeping gently on his chest, as his hand gently rubs her back. "Not what it looks like to me."</p>
<p>"And that one." Ana then points to Ian. "That man wants a baby. Maybe not yet, but you two are in love and you found each other and you need to share that love. He wants to share." </p>
<p>"And you have all of us to make you feel better when you fuck up," Tre tells him.</p>
<p>"<em> When? </em>" Mickey asks, sounding shocked.</p>
<p>"Always when," Maybe Robert says.</p>
<p>"You'll fuck up." Mary nods her head and smiles.</p>
<p>"What?" Mickey sounds confused, but laughs.</p>
<p>"Every parent does," Amanda chimes in.</p>
<p>"Just try not to fuck up as bad the next time." Ana pats his head.</p>
<p>Mickey looks up and he sees Ian looking at him and smiling. Mickey's heart swells so big he feels overwhelmed for a moment and realizes he isn't breathing. Ana's hand rubbing his back gets his lungs working again and he looks up to see her smiling at him warmly with so much love and affection in her eyes he feels like he might burst. </p>
<p>"You're going to be great," she tells him, and he believes her.</p>
<p>Mickey is grateful when the conversation switches to Christmas presents and then food and then who knows what else. Eventually Mary takes Jenny from his arms, and Mickey stands up to stretch. He and Ian lock eyes and Mickey finds his way over, a wide mischievous grin on the redhead's face.</p>
<p>"You heard all that?"</p>
<p>Ian just smiles, looking down at the sleeping infant he's holding and then back to Mickey.</p>
<p>"Don't get any bright ideas." Mickey goes around to the back of Ian's chair and wraps his arms around him, leans down and he says in Ian’s ear, "Not yet. But you know…"</p>
<p>Ian leans back so he can look back at Mickey and kisses his cheek. "You <em> are </em>going to be great."</p>
<p>Mickey hugs him as tight as he can from the angle he's at and kisses his cheek back. <em> How’s that for gay in public? </em></p>
<p>***</p>
<p>The last two days had been fucking exhausting, but also fulfilling in a way Mickey didn't know was possible. Mary and Tre had given them a ride back to Mickey's with a promise of having Ian and Mickey to dinner sometime after the new year.</p>
<p>When they get in Mickey's room finally, Ian manhandles Mickey playfully and sits him on the bed, kneeling in front of him, between his knees, and reaching up to frame his face. "I fucking love you, Mickey Milkovich," Ian says, looking at Mickey with intensity and heat, but also a tenderness that makes Mickey feel soft to his core.</p>
<p>Mickey touches his forehead to Ian's. "I fucking love you too, Ian fucking Gallagher." Their lips touch and it turns into the most delicate of kisses, sweet and lazy, but deep and sexy. </p>
<p>Ian pulls back with a big dopey grin and that's when Mickey sees it. </p>
<p>"Why is there a fuckin' bow on the bathroom door?" Mickey asks with arched eyebrows.</p>
<p>"Well, that's your Christmas present," Ian tells him, rubbing his hands up Mickey's thighs.</p>
<p>"My bathroom?"</p>
<p>"No." Ian chuckles. "What's in it."</p>
<p>"What—" And just then Mickey is interrupted by a diminutive meow and his eyes grow wide. </p>
<p>Mickey jumps up and opens the door and a tiny fluff ball of black and white comes walking out, looking up at him, immediately yowling accusations and demands.</p>
<p>"Holy shit, Ian!" Mickey exclaims.</p>
<p>"Mrs. Sullivan up the street found a mama cat who had kittens in her cellar. She let me pick out which one I wanted." Ian points at the tuxedo kitten on the floor. "He walked right up to me and started talking. Pick him up."</p>
<p>"Holy shit." Mickey scoops him up and the little fuzzy ball starts meowing in his face and runs his rough tongue on Mickey's chin. "You find some leftover gravy?" he says, smoothing his fingertips over his soft fur. Mickey hears himself giggle, but he just doesn't care right now.</p>
<p>He looks up at Ian. "How did you do this, you've been with me all day?"</p>
<p>"Liam." Ian nods. "I gave him my key and texted him when we were finishing dinner. Lip drove him over. It was a team effort." Ian beams at him and Mickey is too enamored with the little tuxie to even grumble Lip's name as he likes to do.</p>
<p>"He's so fucking small, Ian." Mickey is breathy and is amazed that he is so full of love so fast for the creature.</p>
<p>"He was actually the biggest one," Ian tells him. "And the loudest. Sounded like he was yelling at me." Ian laughs.</p>
<p>The kitten seems to get tired of meowing his head off and lays his head against Mickey's chest and starts to purr loudly. Mickey feels hot tears forming in his eyes and he doesn't understand the emotions he's feeling at this moment, but he knows they aren't bad. </p>
<p>Ian walks up and cups Mickey's cheek. "Merry Christmas, Mick."</p>
<p>Mickey leans into the touch as he looks down at the second small animal to fall asleep against his chest tonight.</p>
<p>"Wow, he really likes you. I kinda knew you'd be perfect together." There's that big dopey Ian Gallagher smile again that Mickey knows well and loves and can't get enough of.</p>
<p>"So you like?" Ian asks.</p>
<p>"He's perfect, Ian. Thank you." Mickey leans in and presses his lips to Ian's, locking their lips and rolling their tongues together.</p>
<p>"What are you gonna name him?" Ian asks when they part.</p>
<p>"I don't know." Mickey looks down touching the furry little ears and the top of his kitten's head. </p>
<p>The two men sit close on Mickey’s bed, cuddling the warm furry ball until all of a sudden, he jumps up and does that thing that kittens do where they look possessed, and he starts tearing around the small space. Ian seems prepared, and he pulls out a little plastic fishing pole with a fabric mouse on the end and they “go fishing for kitty” as the game would come to be known.</p>
<p>They spend the rest of the night laughing and snuggling together and stealing kisses while the kitten rotates between walking over them and talking, zooming around the room and getting stuck on things, and sleeping soundly. Mickey and Ian also spend a great deal of the time debating about what to name the little black and white kitty that has already got Mickey wrapped around his little paw, and who he knows is the perfect addition to the family.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Eventually Ian and Mickey would settle on a name sometime that night, and name him Chevelle, but like most cats who live with humans that are at their beck and call, he would have a hundred different nicknames—Mister, Tuxie, Fluff Butt, and Mister Sausage one winter when he gets really fat. Mickey would call him "my little muscle car" and Lil’ Chevy, and also Chevrolet that will evolve into Rolet, and then eventually Rollie. And that's the name he will answer to—when he feels like it.</p>
<p>Mickey's tuxedo cat, Rollie, would grow into an impressive specimen, pretty much running the shop, and leaving presents for everyone the only way a cat truly knows how—in the form of dead mice, rats and birds. </p>
<p>Eventually, when Mickey and Ian save up enough and decide to move out of the shop and into an apartment of their own, Rollie will be displeased and will start to follow Mickey to work, which will be fine with him especially when Ian becomes deep in school and working as a peer support counselor at a local drop in center. Audre would show him what he needed to do and provide some guidance, but also tough love. She would put in a good word, but wouldn’t pull any favors, telling him his accomplishments wouldn't be as sweet if he didn't earn them himself. And he would. He would get in on his own merit, endearing himself to staff and clients, and actually help people who need his help.</p>
<p>Rollie will be confused at first when the two men start to part ways in the morning, and for months he won't be totally sure which way he should go. </p>
<p>"Go with your Papa, Roll. It's okay," Ian will tell him.</p>
<p>"Ian, don't talk like that out here,” Mickey will likely grouse.</p>
<p>Ian will let out his boisterous and somewhat obnoxious, but always endearing laugh. “Shut up. You think you're the only person that considers their cat or dog their child.”</p>
<p>“It's embarrassing,” Mickey will complain, but secretly love it and actively try not to smile.</p>
<p>“Whatever.” Ian will shrug and bend over to look Rollie in the eye. “You can't get on the L with me, Rollie; go with Mickey.” Ian will pet him and then look up at Mickey who will undoubtedly be frowning with eyebrows at attention.</p>
<p>“Now you're trying to reason with him. This is the gayest shit we've ever done.” Mickey will shake his head and cross his arms in front of him with faux exasperation.</p>
<p>“You sure about that?” Ian will give a flirty smile that will be guaranteed to melt Mickey's heart.</p>
<p>“No amount of your dick in my ass could be any gayer than this fucking moment. Come on, Roll.” Mickey will gesture away, pointing down the road, and Rollie will look up and then back to Ian, who he will give a big rowing meow to, and then he'll turn to follow Mickey.</p>
<p>“Hey, you forgot something,” Ian will say to Mickey.</p>
<p>Mickey will shake his head and feign annoyance. “So fucking gay,” he'll tell Ian, but then turn around and give him a big, closed mouth kiss, grumbling “So fucking gay” and “Jesus Christ” and “I love you”, but not really upset and loving every minute of it.</p>
<p>After their kiss, Mickey will finally look up into Ian’s bright green eyes that will be highlighted with blue from the morning sky and he'll give him a flirty smile. “Fuck, I love you.” </p>
<p>To that, Ian will dip back in for one more goodbye kiss. </p>
<p>“Be careful,” Mickey will tell him quietly because no matter how much time passes, Mickey will always worry about Ian, will always want to know where he is and that he's safe. </p>
<p>“Love you too, Mick.” Ian will cup Mickey’s cheek and give him a smitten look that Ian will never lose. Ian will look toward Rollie, who would already be sauntering toward the shop, and say, “Rollie, take care of my man.”</p>
<p>But Rollie won't turn around; he would need to get to work, need to protect the shop and all the silly humans inside.</p>
<p>Mickey will shake his head. “He doesn't understand you.”</p>
<p>“He does.” Ian will nod. “He just doesn't care what I'm saying.”</p>
<p>And Mickey will know that what Ian says is true.</p>
<p>Mickey will smile and mouth, “I love you” one last time before parting ways, believing he will never be able to say it enough no matter how much time passes—never be able to make up for all the years he should have been saying those words to Ian. But he sure as shit is determined to try. </p>
<p>The two will gaze at each other, knowing that it's true. Knowing it's always been true. They will know that it has always been Mickey and Ian, and always will be. The road was rough and windy but they found the way back to each other. And they will take care of each other and keep each other safe, and probably fight over stupid shit, but stop and listen to each other and work it out. </p>
<p>They'll keep using their toolboxes, and watch out for when the other one isn't doing so well. One of them will take control if the other loses theirs, and the person in crisis will let go because they trust and love one another. </p>
<p>And one day, they'll get married and maybe have a kid or two. Or maybe five because there had been and probably always will be a lot of strays in the old neighborhood, or at least one just like it. There sadly always will be too many parentless children that Ian and Mickey will be able to keep safe and love and cherish, and with that, they'll break cycles that others wouldn't believe could be broken. Cycles of poverty, addiction, abuse, and neglect. Cycles of incarceration, violence, and fear of one's true self that will never lead to anything positive. And they'll do this together and with the family they’ll create and finally bring to fruition all of the good things that they have always deserved.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello Everyone!</p>
<p>It's the end of this fic, but their story isn't over, and I like to think about all the possibilities the future holds for them.</p>
<p>Quick Spanish slang glossary:</p>
<p>Callate la boca, pinché cabrón=Shut your mouth, you fucking asshole</p>
<p>Chingadera=fucking thing. It's used to describe when you can't really remember the name of something, but it's vulgar.</p>
<p>Escúchame=listen to me</p>
<p>I want to say that major things went down in my life while writing this, and it will forever be connected to this period in my life. I really want to thank everyone who provided encouragement for my writing and support for this story. It has been an amazing journey.</p>
<p>💖💖💖</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello Everyone! </p><p>I want to start by thanking you for reading, and bravely starting this WIP with me. I am striving for consistency and plan to update once a week on Wednesday nights (PST), but that may change in the future. I promise to keep you all updated either way.</p><p>I want to give a big thank you to my beta @whaticameherefor! I appreciate all of your feedback and keeping me in the proper tense at the right time (not an easy task).</p><p>As we move forward, I will be adding more tags as chapters are posted. There will be some depictions of violence and sexually explicit material, but I will work to make sure those things are tagged properly and noted at the beginning of the chapters.</p><p>I want to state that this fic deals with anxiety and anxiety attacks as well as processing of trauma and therapeutic treatment. It's important for me to state that all of these things are drawn from personal and professional experiences, but that they do not reflect everyone's experience. It is also important for me to acknowledge that everyone's experiences are valid and unique, and they are also powerful. </p><p>I truly hope you enjoy You Deserve Good Things, I welcome your comments and feedback, and look forward to this journey with all of you. </p><p>Lastly, please be kind to one another, but more importantly be kind to yourself. </p><p>💖,</p><p>The Black Cat</p><p>P.S. If you are interested you can find me on Twitter: Chat_Noir91213 or Tumblr: chat-noir12.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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